Quentin and Amanda: A New Beginning
by v.m.carjeb
Summary: AU story - Quentin saves Amanda from the brink of death so they can live out their lives in harmony. Chapter forty-six up!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One – Reborn and Beginning Again

Quentin stood, dumbfounded. He knew that touching her meant losing the one true love of his life, yet he had done it – he had touched her before they made it out alive.

Quentin and Amanda were trapped in death. He had come to what Death himself had termed the "stopping-off place" just to save Amanda, the one woman who had touched him so deeply that he scoured the centuries and even Heaven itself to find and rescue her. Death had been amused that a man would do so much for a mere woman, so he had planned to let them escape – by means of a maze with many traps, and the one unbreakable rule was that they could not touch, not even once, or Quentin would lose her.

They had done all right so far: they had killed the giant spider, and had trenched across rough terrain (where Amanda sprained her ankle, yet continued valiantly), and Quentin had crossed the shaky bridge. However, when Amanda tried to cross it, her legs fell through a hole in the bridge. Quentin, acting on impulse as he always does, reached out and grabbed her, pulling her to safety. But now that she was out of danger of falling down to the river below, they both realized they had touched – a phenomenon that was not supposed to happen.

"Quickly," Quentin shouted over an ominous rumbling, "Amanda, grab hold of my hand!"

"But -."

"Listen, it's too late now. Just grab on!" Quentin practically sprinted toward the pale glow of the light, Earth's light. He had to drag her with him, for if she was lost, he could not conceive of life without her. The rumbling became louder, and gravel started to fall. An avalanche – they would be trapped under an avalanche. "Come on, Amanda, run!" Because of her sprained ankle, she was merely hobbling, but Quentin grabbed her and picked her up, running for the exit. Looking back, he saw huge boulders fall onto the spot where she stood. She would have died if he had not acted as he did.

As soon as they passed the light, they both fell unconscious, exhausted. Minutes later, they were in the woods surrounding Collinwood. They both awoke to the sound of Death's voice saying, "You won this time, Amanda . . . I knew I was too soft-hearted . . ."

Quentin woke up fully, and looked at Amanda, whose eyes were just beginning to crinkle open. He took a big breath of relief – he had made it. They had made it. Amanda would be with him for eternity.

The first sight Amanda saw was Quentin's face, his blue eyes longing, and his mouth slightly upturned into one of his famous grins. "Quentin," she started to say, but he shook his head.

"Try not to talk, Amanda. Save your strength." He smiled hugely, and added, "You made it." He gave a little laugh, and said to himself more than anyone, "We made it."

They rested there for a little while, looking at each other and at their surroundings. Quentin's voice broke the silence. "I think we're at Collinwood." He got to his feet. "Yes, we're on the estate. C'mon, I'll take you back to the Inn." He reached for her hands, and she grabbed hold, never looking away from the man that she loved and trusted more than anyone in the world. As she got to her feet, she grimaced and glanced at her sprained ankle. Quentin looked at her, concerned. "Can you make it to the Inn? Do you want to rest a little while?"

"I think I need a doctor." Amanda looked at him intently. "I can make it to Collinwood. Dr. Hoffman can set my ankle, and she can be trusted. Please? I don't think I could make it to Collinsport."

Quentin smiled again. "Okay. Let's go. You can lean on me."

The couple limped slowly through the vast, cumbersome woods to the giant mansion overlooking Widow's Hill. They walked up to the oak doors, and Quentin knocked. They waited for a few seconds, until Elizabeth Collins Stoddard came to the door. She was the matriarch of Collinwood, over fifty yet still growing old gracefully. In a polished New England accent, she said, "Yes?"

"I am . . . Grant Douglas," Quentin lied, using his trusty alias. "My girlfriend –" Amanda looked at him lovingly at that remark – "has sprained her ankle walking along the beach. We were wondering if Dr. Hoffman is available for a consultation."

"Please, come in. I'll see if she's in." They hobble into the great house as Elizabeth ascends the magnificent staircase. They enter the Drawing Room, and Quentin sets Amanda down gently on the couch.

"Do you need something to prop up your ankle?" Quentin asked. Amanda nodded, and Quentin immediately snatched an embroidered couch pillow, and set her foot on the coffee table. Afterwards, he shut the double doors of the Drawing Room. Amanda winced as she tried to get her foot in a comfortable position. Quentin knelt beside her, and asked, "Do you need anything else? Water? A magazine?"

Amanda smiled feebly, and said, "No. I just want to sit here with you. Just to talk."

Quentin smiled broadly, and said, "Okay." He stood and walked to sit by her on the sofa.

"Quentin, I just want to thank you. You saved my life." She faltered, glanced down, then met his baby-blue eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Quentin kissed her slowly, and reached out for her. She stopped him, and backed away laughing.

"Quentin, my ankle," she simply said, and he grinned boyishly, and sat back. She turned around to talk with him again. "I can't believe we have a second chance. So few people do. We must make the most of it, Quentin."

Quentin laughed again, saying, "You know, I think I have had more second chances than most cats." He turned serious, and stared into the dark eyes of his lover. "Amanda, when you're well again, I want to make you my wife."

"Under which name?" she asked innocently yet slyly. At the look on his face, she laughed, and said, "Quentin, whether I become Mrs. Quentin Collins or Mrs. Grant Douglas – it doesn't matter. What matters is that I marry you, soon." She took his face in her hands, and said, "I love you, Quentin Collins. I have for years. I want to be your wife.

Two weeks later, Amanda was testing her ankle in her suite at the Collinsport Inn, where Quentin and she stayed (though in separate rooms, of course). It seemed to be healed – Julia had told them that it wouldn't take long, so they decided that two weeks from their escape from death would be their wedding day.

Amanda had bought a controversial wedding dress: one strap, skin-tight, and knee-length. She decided since she was masquerading as Olivia Corey, world-renown actress, she'd better look the part. The worst thing about her attire was her three-inch heels. She had only been off her ankle for two weeks, and she seemed wobbly at best, but Quentin wanted the wedding so soon, so she couldn't disappoint him.

A knock at the door jarred her concentration. She stumbled to it, and opened the door for her matron of honor, Carolyn Stoddard (Elizabeth's daughter). Carolyn had been her first friend in Collinsport, and also a relative of Quentin, although she didn't know it yet. She was dressed magnificently in a long, beautiful silk gown. It wasn't too low cut, but the pink color matched perfectly with her fair complexion and long blond hair. She carried the flowers that Quentin had bought for her. "I had to literally block the door to keep him from delivering these," Carolyn said, her violet eyes laughing. "Doesn't he know it's bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony?"

"Grant's never been fond of customs," Amanda replied. She fingered the roses Carolyn held. "White roses. My favorite." She teared up as she recalled how he had remembered her favorite flower after seventy-three years of separation.

Carolyn looked at her condition, and said, "You're not supposed to cry until during the ceremony, you know." Amanda stared at her, and Carolyn laughed. "Don't be so serious! Grant had better be careful, or he'll end up with a wrinkled bride." Amanda was still staring at her, this time perplexed. Carolyn rolled her eyes, and said, "Frowns cause wrinkles. Haven't you ever heard that?"

"No," Amanda said, still looking at Carolyn with a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Quentin was in his room, tying his tie in front of his full-length mirror. Barnabas Collins, his best man, was standing by. They were both silent, thinking about what would transpire during the next few hours. Someone knocked on his door, and Barnabas said, "Stay here. I'll answer it."

Barnabas opened the door to a bellboy, who said, "The cars are downstairs. The groom has to leave first."

Barnabas turned around, and said, "Quentin, it's time."

Quentin smiled, and said, "I'm ready. Let's go."

" . . . And I now pronounce you man and wife. Sir, you may kiss the bride."

Quentin takes her in his arms and kisses her, as the on-looking public applaud. The wedding took place on the grounds of Collinsport at twilight. There were few guests: Carolyn had invited Jeb, who in turn invited Bruno; and Barnabas had invited Julia. The turn-out was small, but Quentin was satisfied.

As she expected, Amanda's new name was Mrs. Grant Douglas. Quentin couldn't reveal his real identity to anyone who didn't already know – it would be too dangerous. He had told her all about the strange Jebez Hawkes, but they didn't stop Carolyn from inviting him – again, it would have been too dangerous.

They walked down the aisle together, as Amanda stopped to hug Carolyn and Julia. Quentin hesitantly shook Jeb's hand, then proceeded to Julia and Barnabas. The guests threw the rice, and the happy couple vanished from Collinsport to their awaiting honeymoon in the Phillipines.

A month had passed by. Barnabas was again a vampire, and Jeb turned out to be good, not evil, saving Carolyn from an unspeakable fate. Barnabas and Julia were working vigorously against the Leviathans, now consisting of three people: Nicholas, Bruno, and Sky. And yet, amidst all that drama, Quentin and Amanda were buying their first house.

They were looking at a two bedroom house on the outskirts of Collinsport, almost neighboring Maggie Evans' old house. As they looked through all the rooms, Quentin kept saying, "But we don't need all this room, Olivia." (He called her Olivia, since there was a real estate agent following them around.) Amanda just smiled and said nothing. Finally, when the agent had left them alone in the stark master bedroom, she hugged him tightly, and whispered in his ear, "I'm pregnant."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two – A New Generation

Quentin's face held a look of total surprise – and elation. "Pregnant. My girl is going to have a baby." Still in their embrace, Quentin starts rocking her from side to side. "I can't believe it. I'm gonna be a dad." Quentin slackens their hug a bit and looks down at his loving wife. Without words, they each knew each other's thoughts. They kissed.

Amanda, smiling, broke the moment. "Quentin, the agent is downstairs."

Quentin laughed, then mockingly looked around the room with its blank white walls and hostile emptiness. "You know, the more I see of this room, the more I like it." He then stared at his young, beautiful wife. "Or maybe it's the way I see you in this room." He walked slowly up to her, and held on to her again. "A baby. We're going to have a baby!" They looked at each other and laughed giddily. He placed a hand over her stomach. "I hope it's a girl."

Amanda sighed. "A girl would be nice, but what I want most is a boy."

Quentin suddenly became panic-stricken. "No!" He grabbed her by her shoulders. "Don't you ever wish for a boy. Not ever. Do you hear me?" He let go, and walked to a corner of the room, faced toward the wall.

Amanda looked at him sadly, wondering what she had said wrong. "All right. Whatever you say, Quentin." Tears start to fill her eyes, hurt welled up in her throat. She had thought that everything would be wonderful now; they're married aren't they? Away from everything that had plagued them in the past? And now he wanted to fight?

They heard the clip-clop of the real estate agent's heels climbing up the stairs. She poked her head in the door, and said tentatively, "Is everything all right?"

Quentin turned around, and said, "Yeah. We're buying." He turned around, and saw Amanda staring out the window. "C'mon, we need to sign some papers."

She wiped the tears away from her eyes, and walked with him downstairs. She wondered if they would ever be happy in this house – or any house. Whatever haunted him then continued to do so, and she didn't know why.

There they were, at their first doctor's appointment. They were sitting in a semi-crowded waiting room, with a lot of other pregnant women. Amanda was calmly reading one of the medical magazines, while Quentin was gripping the edge of his chair. He had never been in a situation like this. In 1897, there were no such things as obstetricians or waiting rooms; but then, he was never at the birth of his children, either.

"Mrs. Douglas," the receptionist called, in a bored voice. Amanda placed her magazine on the table and stood. Quentin gave her a nervous smile, and approached the front desk with her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Douglas, of course." The couple turned around and faced the doctor. According to Julia, he was excellent in his field, so they had called immediately to set up an appointment. Quentin shook the hand of the kindly stranger. "I'm Doctor Harkins, your obstetrician. Won't you follow me to my office?"

The doctor turned and headed down the hallway. Quentin and Amanda exchanged a supportive look before following. As they approached his door, Quentin held her hand tightly. Amanda whispered, "It's gonna be okay." Quentin nodded, unconvinced.

"Please, sit down," the doctor said, gesturing toward the two chairs in front of his desk. "Now, how long have you been pregnant, Mrs. Douglas?"

"About a month."

The doctor smiled benevolently. "And have you been having any problems?"

"You mean apart from the symptoms?"

"Symptoms?" Quentin said frantically, "What symptoms?"

Trying to conceal a smile, she said, "Morning sickness, delayed per-."

"All right, all right," Quentin said, not wanting to hear more. To the doctor, he said, "That's all normal, isn't it?"

"Yes, quite," the doctor replied, amused by this nervous first-time father. "Mrs. Douglas, I see from the appointment that you do not really need a check-up."

"No, but I do have some questions," Amanda said. "Is it true that doctors nowadays put women under anesthetic?"

"Of course," Doctor Harkins said, looking at the pregnant woman quizzically. "Has your mother never told you this?"

"I never knew my mother," Amanda said, her gaze downward at her hand, that was now holding onto Quentin's as tightly as he was holding on to her. At least she was speaking partly the truth.

"I see. Well, when you come into labor, you'll come to the hospital, where you will be taken directly to the emergency room, and put under to relieve you of any pain. Of course, the only person allowed in, apart from the doctor and the nurses, is you, Mr. Douglas."

"Me?" Quentin was nervously looking around the room, checking for any other Mr. Douglases.

"Yes, Mr. Douglas, you. You are very necessary for support. Are there any other questions?"

"Do you have any, darling?" Amanda said, turning toward her husband, who shook his head fervently.

The doctor stood up, and extended his hand once again. "It was nice meeting you folks. I'm sure you'll be back again."

Amanda gave a weak smile, and Quentin shook his hand. They left the office, and heard the receptionist call another name, equally as bored. As they left the hospital, Amanda started giggling, while Quentin still looked very nervous. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"With today's modern medicine, you'd think they'd have advanced so – but they haven't! The only difference is now they can relieve the poor, suffering mother of her pain."

Just then, a nurse came streaming out, holding a pen and paper, motioning for them to stop. Quite out of breath, the nurse said, "You forgot to re-schedule."

"For what?" Amanda asked, perplexed.

"For a check-up."

"But I don't know when I'll be sick."

"No, no, a check-up for the baby," the nurse said, smilingly.

"I'll schedule it for when the baby's born."

"Mrs. Douglas, you don't understand," the nurse said, now a little irritable. "The doctor checks the baby while you're still pregnant."

Amanda leaned closer to the nurse. "They can do that now?"

The nurse raised one eyebrow. "You do know that you can't do drugs while you're pregnant, right?"

Quentin reached over and grabbed the paper and pen. "How long should we wait?"

"Two weeks."

Quentin smiled famously again, and wrote down the time and day. As he gave the slip of paper back to the nurse, she eyes Amanda suspiciously once more before returning to her station. He wrapped his arm around Amanda's shoulders as they headed back to the car, and said, "I know – it's different. But you shouldn't ask too many questions – people get suspicious."

"I know," Amanda sighed as she put her head on his shoulder, "But this charade is getting so difficult. I take it all back – humans really have evolved technologically."

Quentin laughed, and held her to himself more closely as they approached his blue sedan.

Amanda was sitting outside on the terrace. Quentin had come by to see Carolyn to tell her the good news. She had seemed sincerely overjoyed at their news, but she had problems of her own, all concerning Jeb. Amanda seemed so much on the outside that she decided to come outside. She sat silently, watching the water overflow into the fountain. A rustle captured her attention. She turned around to see her tall, handsome hubby walking toward her. She smiled faintly, then returned her attention to the fountain. He noticed her mood, and sat next to her. "You want to leave?" he asked.

"I don't know," Amanda said despairingly, "I don't know what I want. Carolyn seemed so upset that I felt guilty being happy."

"Oh, Olivia," he said, clutching her from behind, allowing her to rest on his chest. He still called her Olivia because of all the enemy territory around them. "Carolyn will be fine."

"But she seems so depressed," Amanda said, "I wish she'd talk about it, at least. I feel like an outsider."

"You're not, you know," he replied, "Not in my life." They kissed passionately, unknowing that Carolyn was watching them from the Drawing Room window, wondering why her life hadn't turned out as well.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three – Panic

Amanda was lying in a hospital bed, praying to God that He would not take their baby away from her.

Earlier that afternoon, she was fixing sandwiches for the both of them. "Why is it that men can never make their own sandwiches," she joked.

Quentin laughed absently, and said, "I don't know, honey."

Amanda paused briefly as she placed the turkey on a slice of bread. "Quentin?"

Quentin looked back at her, his mind somewhere else. "Yes, honey?"

Hesitantly, Amanda said, "You seem like you're a million miles away. Is something wrong?" He seemed like he would answer, but he returned to staring out the kitchen window. A small smile crept up when he realized that he was looking at the very yard which his little girl (he still refused to believe that he would be given a boy) would someday play. Amanda's voice penetrated his thoughts. "Quentin, answer me."

Again, he faced her. Her eyes were hurt – hurt that he still would not trust her with his deepest problems. "Amanda, I want to share it with you – really, I do – but I can't risk it. My information with the wrong people could cause a lot of damage – to you and to the people involved."

"Please, Quentin?" Amanda said sweetly, pleadingly, "I'm your wife, and I want to share -."

"No!" Quentin stood up angrily, stared at the window for a moment, then turned back on Amanda. "Do you know what it would do to me to lose you, even for a moment? I went through hell and back to bring you back alive, Amanda! And this is how you thank me?"

"Quentin, I just want to be a part of your life!" Amanda cried, tears streaming down her face, "You never let me in, you're a thousand miles away, you act as if I shouldn't care, but I do, because you're my husband, and I love you! Do you hear me?" Amanda choked out a sob, and whispered, "I love you."

Quentin, knowing what he had done, rushed over to her, hugged her, and said, "Hey . . . don't cry, Amanda. If I don't let you in sometimes, it's because I'm trying to protect you and our little girl. Don't you understand?"

Amanda nodded, and buried her face into his shoulder. "It wasn't hell."

Quentin held her at arm's length, and said, "What?"

"It wasn't hell," Amanda said, trying to laugh, wiping tears from her eyes. "It was the stopping-off place."

They both laughed as she retrieved a napkin to clear her face of her streaming makeup. Suddenly, though, things weren't all that they seemed. Amanda suddenly clutched at her stomach and groaned. Quentin rushed to her side, and said in a panicky voice, "Amanda, what's wrong?!"

"My stomach!" she gasped, "The baby! Quentin, I'm gonna lose the baby!" Hurriedly, Quentin dragged her toward the door, her screams and moans fading away.

After she passed out in the car, Amanda thought that the world was ending, and that she would die, or the baby – maybe both. However, when she awoke in her hospital bed, with Quentin by her side, the pain was still apparent – so she knew the baby was still in her, fighting all the way.

Since neither Quentin nor Amanda could age, she could detect no extra lines, but the mere expression on his face was enough to convince her that he was a scared for the baby's well-being as she was. It took almost all her energy to talk, but she felt she had to. "Quentin -."

"Shhh," he said, "Just lay still. The doctor's doing everything he can. We're going to save that baby." He leaned in closer, and whispered, "And, incidentally, it's Grant." Amanda gasped, and tried to say something, but he put his finger over her lips. "No one heard, no harm done. Just – stay in there, okay?"

Amanda nodded, then held on to the hand in front of her face, kissing it every so often. It seemed like years before the doctor came in. "Okay, Mr. Douglas, you'll have to go now. Your wife is needed in the operating room." The look of absolute fear on her husband's face nearly shook her faith. The oxygen mask came over her face, and she barely heard, "Just count backwards from one hundred . . ."

Again, Amanda woke up in her hospital bed, but this time, the pain in her midsection had ceased; instead, she felt pain all over, as if she had been hit by a truck. Her eyes were blurry, but she could see the outline of her faithful husband in front of her. She was almost afraid to wake up, afraid of what might reveal itself to her, but she forced herself to be strong. His image became clearer, until she could see everyone of his eyelashes surrounding his steady blue eyes. "Did . . . did I . . ."

Quentin shook his head, and she could see his black hair shake slightly. "The baby's all right. We just have to be more careful, that's all."

"How?" Amanda said weakly.

"Just . . . not fighting, for starters. And you have to be resting more than you are already. That's all." Quentin's usual strong expression goes soft. "Olivia, I can't have you scaring me like that. I want this baby just as much as you do, but given the choice, you come first."

"Grant, please . . . I won't fight anymore, but I need you to trust me. I need you to open up. We're supposed to be man and wife, but if the trust is gone, then so is the union. Please, Grant, tell me what's going on."

Quentin looked into her dark brown eyes, finding all the love there that's been hiding for years. He knew he had to tell her the truth – or at least part of it. "Barnabas is gone."

Amanda sat up in bed. "Gone? He's dead?"

Quentin nervously tried to calm her down again. "No, no, he left Collinsport last month, right after Jeb died."

"Oh," Amanda said, looking at Quentin suspiciously. "Is that all? Barnabas left?"

"Yes," Quentin said, darting his eyes away from hers. "You should get some sleep. I'll be right here, by your side." Feeling comforted again, Amanda closed her eyes and drifted into a pleasant slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four – Kidnapper

Amanda had been home from the hospital for three months now. Quentin had gone to every doctor's visit, and had been Amanda's fervent caretaker. She had never felt so loved or worshipped, even when Charles Delaware Tate was painting two portraits of her a week.

She still though Quentin was keeping something from her, but that was something she was used to. Even in 1897, Quentin could be the most mysterious man. Her stomach was protruding majorly now, and it was difficult to find maternity stores in Collinsport; anyone who married left town to start a family. Usually, they would have to go all the way to Bangor to even find a store that sold to young mothers. As usual, Quentin would always tag along. And every time she would ask him if a certain dress or blouse fit right, his answer was always the same: "Olivia, you could be wearing a burlap sack, and you'd still be the most beautiful girl in the world to me."

This day, there was no shopping planned, no doctor's appointments – just a quiet afternoon at home. Quentin was quite used to making the meals now, and he bustled around the kitchen as Amanda lay on the couch. Bored with her inactivity, she said, "Quentin, I want to make dinner."

"Too late," he said, "I've already started."

"What are we having?" she asked as she poked her head up above the couch to see him.

"Meatloaf," Quentin replied with a grin.

Exasperated, Amanda said, "But we had meatloaf last night."

"And it was good, wasn't it?" Quentin laughed. Amanda nodded, so Quentin added, "Well, it'll be twice as good as leftovers, won't it?" Quentin laughed uproariously as Amanda sighed and let her head fall on the pillow. As infuriating as it was, being taken care of by her husband was best for the child, so she had to suffer through it. "Ah, dammit," he said from the kitchen, "We ran out of ketchup." Quentin walked rapidly over to Amanda, knelt down, and said, "Sorry, honey. I have to go to the store."

Amanda suddenly had a terrible feeling of dread. "Quentin, please don't. Make the meatloaf without it."

"Honey, it'll be dry and crusty. You won't like it."

"Then make something else."

"Honey," Quentin said firmly, "What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid."

"Yes, you are," he said, a smile upturning his lips. "Now, what is it? Have you seen anything? Heard anything?"

"No," she said, but on an impulse, she grabbed at the front of his shirt. "Take me with you, then."

"Amanda, you need your rest," Quentin said as he stood. Amanda let go, and tried to convince herself as he grabbed his coat and walked out the door that nothing was going to happen to her. However, she heard a noise upstairs that argued otherwise.

"Quentin?" she said loudly, but he was already gone. Appearing braver than she felt, she sat up on the sofa, and yelled, "Who's up there?" Another loud noise startled her. She realized that whoever it was, it was probably a man who could run faster than a pregnant woman. She stood up carefully, and inched toward the front door, trying not to make a single sound. She heard him by the stairs, so she bolted for the door, never looking back. Her efforts were in vain, however; the man caught up to her and put his hand over her mouth so she couldn't alarm the neighbors. Amanda couldn't see who it was, but she was terrified: terrified about never seeing Quentin again, about losing the baby, and about dying without telling her husband how much she loved him. As a damp rag moved over her mouth, she caught a strong scent of fumes, and passed out . . .

When she awoke, she was placed on top of a table. She sat up quickly – too quickly. She could tell by the throbbing of her head. Looking around the room, she realized that she vaguely remembered it – a memory of long ago, before she and Quentin had fallen in love – perhaps before they even met. Just then, a hoarse whisper of a voice caught her attention and jarred her memory. "I see you've finally awoken, my dear."

She stared up the staircase to see the figure of a man, whose face was unseen, but whose voice was immediately recognizable. "Count Petofi."

"At your service, madame." The figure stooped a bit, as if he were bowing.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Ah, direct and to the point. You've become quite the modern woman, Miss Harris." The man started descending the stairs.

"I'm not Miss Harris anymore."

"No, no, of course not. You've married Quentin Collins, haven't you?" Amanda was in shock about how much this man knew of her. "Yes, I've made it my business to know everything about Quentin since he left Collinsport in 1897. As I recall, he left to find you."

"Yes," Amanda said, her eyes staring at the stone floor.

"Now, you're Mrs. Grant Douglas. That is the name he calls himself now?" The man was fully visible by this point, his curly fair hair undeniable, his eyes magnified by the potent glasses that were glimmering in the candlelight. When Amanda refused to answer his question, he said, "I can make you tell, Mrs. Douglas."

"Yes, his name is Grant Douglas."

The Count chuckled to himself. "I've had a man outside his house for days, searching, spying – we made sure the chloroform we used wouldn't have any permanent effects on you, or your baby."

"Why have you brought me here?" Amanda said defiantly.

"Simple," Petofi chuckled, "I want to see Quentin. You seemed like the most convenient hostage." As he looked at her, he asked, "May I see your hand?"

Her eyes flashed quickly, but remembrance made her comply. The Count wrenched off her ring easily. "Sergio!" he rasped. A dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-complexioned man stood before her. Petofi gave him Amanda's wedding ring. "You will pay a visit on Mr. Douglas."

Amanda was still sitting on the table, ever vigilant of every noise outside this building. Three hours had passed, and still Quentin had not come. She was starting to get worried; what if Sergio had hurt him in his "negotiation"? She looked at her hostage-holder, and asked, "Where are we?"

"Surely you remember, Mrs. Douglas," he said, puffing slowly on his cigar.

She tried, but Amanda had wanted to forget her unhappy memories at Collinsport, so she had buried whatever meaning this place held for her deep inside her subconscious. "I don't, so recall my memory."

The Count just smiled and sat, like a happy fat cat. An iron door opened on the floor above, and the hurried footsteps of two people came bustling down the stairs. Sergio was bringing Quentin, who took one look at Amanda, and looked away in pain. "Let her go, Petofi."

"And so I shall, after you and I have our little talk."

Petofi entered one room off of the living area where Amanda had been placed. Quentin grabbed Amanda's hands, said softly, "I love you," and followed Petofi into the adjoining room." The great iron door shuddered as it closed behind them, and Amanda looked longingly at it, wondering what this was all about.

"I suggest you get comfortable," Sergio said as he took one of Petofi's cigars and lit it with one of the candles, "They might be in there for a while."

Half an hour later, they emerge. Quentin looked angry, while Petofi was jubilant. "Can we go now, Petofi?" Quentin asked almost sarcastically.

"Of course, of course!" Petofi said laughingly, "Now that I have gotten what I wanted, you may live your life freely – just as long as you give me my payment, Quentin."

A knowing look passed between them, and Quentin said, "I will." Quentin helped Amanda down from the table, saying, "Let's go."

"But what did he mean -."

"I'll explain it later, let's go!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five – Drunken Conversations and Baby Talk

Amanda stalked in through the front door, with Quentin right behind her. They glared at each other across the room as Quentin slammed the door behind him. The ride home had not been pleasant, since they were arguing about Quentin's recent meeting with Petofi. He had refused to tell her anything, so, instead of crying, she got a bit miffed. "So," she said curtly, "Are you gonna tell me, or aren't you?" Quentin scoffed and looked the other way. "All right," Amanda said, her lips tight with anger, "Have it your way. Hope you like the couch."

As Amanda started to climb the stairs, an exasperated Quentin said, "Wait. Come here." Amanda turned around frostily, and Quentin gestured, his expression blank. As she approached him, he reached out his arms to her, directing her to the easy chair. "Now, I didn't want to tell you this for your own good, but since you insist, I tell you the whole story."

Amanda's face softened, and she said, "Quentin, I wouldn't insist, but it's been making you so distant. Our child needs a father, and you can't be one if you're a million miles away all the time."

Quentin nodded, saying, "I know. I should have told you over seventy years ago, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't let you know that you were dating a monster."

"Quentin, you're not -."

"Let me finish," he said sternly. Amanda sat back, apprehensive. "Now, months before I met you, I was placed under this terrible curse. My cure wasn't complete. It only affected me. Every son I have is going to suffer this same curse, as well as his first-borns, all down the line."

As he let this news sink in, Amanda said, "But I still don't know what this has to do with Petofi."

Sighing, Quentin continued: "Petofi was behind my cure. He knows that I might have a son, so he offered to cure him two weeks after he's born."

"What about your payment?" Amanda asked, her voice shaking.

Looking away, Quentin said, "He wants Barnabas." Quentin smiled slyly. "Too bad he doesn't know he's gone."

Amanda looked around, scared. "Quentin, Petofi has been spying on us for weeks. He could have the place bugged."

Quentin smirked. "I doubt it. Petofi has never been the innovative type." He suddenly kneeled in front of his very pregnant wife, and said, "Now you know why I could never tell you before. I thought if you didn't know, you couldn't be hurt. I'm so sorry that I was wrong – you don't know how much."

"Oh, Quentin!" Amanda cried, reaching out, hugging her husband. With a serious look in her eyes, she kissed him, now knowing the truth, the complete truth – and nothing Petofi could ever do to her could take that away from her.

A month later found them painting the room that was to be the nursery. Since they didn't know which it would be, they decided on the neutral color of green. As they were painting merrily, Amanda started pitching names. "Okay, if it's a girl, we'll call her . . . Jennifer."

Quentin shrugged and said, "Not bad."

Amanda shot him a look. "All right, Mr. Douglas, what do you suggest?"

Quentin stared intently at her. "Amanda."

Amanda closed one eye, mocking the brain process. "Mmmmm . . . no."

"Why not? Your name is Olivia, remember?"

"Yeah, but too many people would get suspicious."

Quentin smirked laughingly. "Yeah, 'cause we all know that Amanda Harris, who is close to one hundred years old, by the way, looks exactly as she did in 1897. Yeah, I can see where people can get suspicious." At the look on her face, he started laughing silently as he returned to painting.

"I still say that Amanda shouldn't be her first name. Middle name, maybe."

"All right, then," said Quentin, grinning, "I wouldn't mind naming my daughter after my sister, Judith."

"Why?" Amanda asked, perplexed.

"Well, we were never very close, but I do admire the way she handled her husband."

Amanda, too, smirked, and said, "Well put. Judith Amanda Douglas." Amanda looked at Quentin before she burst out laughing. "It was all perfect before we added that last name. Wherever did you find it? Phone book?"

"Believe it or not, yes," he said, causing them both to giggle again. "So we're agreed."

"Agreed!" Amanda said cheerily. "Now for a boy -."

"I don't even want to think about it." His whole mood changed drastically. He painted as if each brush stroke was a knife in Petofi's back.

"We have to think about it," Amanda said, sighing, "If it's a boy, what are we going to put on the birth certificate? No Name Douglas?"

"Might as well," Quentin mumbled under his breath.

"Stop that," Amanda said sharply. Quentin stared at her, seeing the old despair in her eye. Calmly, Amanda added, "I think you know what to call him."

Softly, Quentin said, "Jamison."

Amanda nodded. "Of course."

"Jamison Douglas," Quentin reaffirmed. "Any thoughts on a middle name?"

"Yeah," Amanda said, hesitantly, "Timothy."

Quentin gave her a strange look, but agreed. "Jamison Timothy Douglas."

Amanda shrugged, and said, "Works better than Judith Douglas."

Quentin sighed. "Yeah, I guess." To stop his concerns about the baby, he slathered more paint on the already covered wall.

Quentin was drinking – as usual. Since the baby was due the next day, he figured he had better celebrate the last day of being a married man without the heavy burden of fatherhood. He had plunged through a quarter of a bottle of brandy, and he was ready for more. However, Amanda had another idea.

She was stumbling down the stairs, nine months pregnant. Doubled over, she reached for Quentin. He, however, was not even aware that she, or anything else besides his glass, was in the room. Somehow, she reached his shirt sleeve and tugged on it. "Quentin," she gasped.

Whipping around, he saw his wife in great pain. "Oh, no. You're not losing the baby, are you?"

Giving him an icy stare, she said plainly and calmly, "I'm in labor."

"What?" Quentin said, his face a mask of terror, "No, no, no, the baby's not due till tomorrow."

"Well, I think you child has a thing or two to say about that."

"Can't you – stop it?"

Amanda tightened her jaw. "Quentin," she said sternly, "I am in labor. The baby is coming out. No one can stop it. Now I need you to drive me to the hospital, Quentin, before I give birth on the living room rug."

"Now?" Quentin whimpered.

"Now!" Amanda started walking toward the front door, when Quentin stopped her.

"Wait!"

She whipped around, severely agitated. "For what?"

"Can I talk to it?"

"Quentin!" she whined, but it was no use. He had already kneeled to belly-size, and started talking to his unborn baby.

"Now, listen," he said calmly, "You were supposed to come tomorrow. We're both sensible human beings here, I'm sure we can work something out."

At that moment, Amanda had another contraction. Screaming in his ear, she cried, "We've got to get to the hospital!!!"

"Okay, okay," Quentin said, nervous and apprehensive. They raced to the hospital, and entered the reception area. They walked up to the front desk, and he said, "Excuse me, my wife's in labor. She needs a doctor, now."

"Which physician have you been consulting?" the nurse said calmly.

"Harkins. Dr. Harkins." Amanda said between deep breaths.

"And what is your name, please?"

"Mrs. Grant Douglas."

"How far apart are your contractions?"

"Two minutes. Please, GET SOMEONE!!"

The nurse looked up at her, taken aback. "Please try to remain calm, Mrs. Douglas." The nurse called the doctor on the intercom, who immediately came out with nurses, and took the couple to the emergency room.

"Push harder, Mrs. Douglas!"

Quentin was holding on to her hand while Amanda, sweaty and irritable, was giving birth to their child. While the anesthesia was available, they opted to give birth naturally, like they were used to. Finally, both parents were relieved as the cry of their first-born pierced the room. Amanda slumped down as Quentin approached the doctors. "What is it?" he asked.

Dr. Harkins turned around to face him, beaming. "Congratulations, Mr. Douglas. It's a boy."

Quentin's face was in total shock, while Amanda smiled up at the ceiling and whispered, "Jamison."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six – Payment

Amanda was allowed to leave five days after Jamison Douglas entered the world. She was thankful that she had nine whole days to be with him before Quentin gave him to that horrible man, who will no doubt do some kind of hocus-pocus black magic over her son.

Her afternoons mostly consisted of being holed up in the nursery, having some alone time with her son. Sometimes she would think she would cry just to think of turning her son over to Petofi. At times she wondered what curse he suffered under, why he was in so much danger – how Quentin was a monster. Countless times in the hospital she reminded him that he never told her what kind of curse, but he avoided the question, and just told her to rest.

Alone with her son, she knew that today was the day – the day for the cure. Amanda sat in her rocking chair, rocking her son back and forth, humming to him. He seemed so innocent, so fragile. He was born with a little bit of hair – jet-black, like his father's. Jamison's eyes, though, were the dark jewels (framed with eyelashes) that were the trademark of his actress mother. He was a beautiful baby – and she could not think about Petofi even near him.

Amanda heard a knock on the nursery door. Cautiously, she asked, "Who is it?"

"It's Quentin," was the muffled voice she heard.

"Come in?" she said, unsure. Quentin had never knocked on the nursery door before. When he entered the room, she saw why. Sergio was with him. "It's time to go." Amanda reluctantly tried to hand him the baby, but Quentin shook his head. "You have to come, too."

Amanda looked as if she wanted to cry. Sergio nodded, and added, "The Count wants to be sure you're not trying to trick him." Hanging her head, Amanda nodded. Sergio tugged hard on Quentin's sleeve, and said, "Come on, can't you make her stop crying? The Count won't like to be kept waiting!"

Quentin said softly to his wife, "C'mon, Amanda. We have to do this. It won't hurt, I promise."

"How can you promise that?" Amanda said sharply, tears choking her voice. As if resigned, she said, "I have to get his diaper bag."

Sergio made a face, while Quentin smiled sadly, and said, "Of course." Amanda slung the bag over her shoulder, adjusted Jamison in her arms, and joined her husband, who, in turn, put a protective arm over her shoulder. The three left the house silently, Amanda with her head on her husband's shoulder.

* * *

The three walked down the uneven stone steps to Count Petofi's lair. At last, Amanda knew where she was when she was kidnapped – also, she remembered this as the place where she first met Petofi. Silently, she wondered if he had been hiding here all these years.

"Ah, welcome, welcome," Petofi said cheerfully at the bottom of the stairs. Again, he bowed gracefully. "And I see you've brought the boy. Wonderful. Incidentally, what is his name?"

Quentin never took his eyes off his son. "Jamison."

Petofi laughed with his raspy voice, saying, "You never change, Quentin. You never change." He clapped a hand on Quentin's shoulder. "And Mrs. Douglas, if I may say so, you have never looked so beautiful as when you are the very picture of motherhood." Again, Petofi bowed courteously.

Uneasy, Amanda managed to say, "Thank you."

"Shall we enter the room, Quentin?" Petofi said, all jubilance gone, business manner apparent.

"Now?" Quentin said softly. He had never taken his eyes off his pure, innocent son, who was asleep in his mother's arms.

"If you please," Petofi said. Again, he entered the chamber, knowing that they would follow him. Quentin glanced up, softly touched Amanda's arm as he looked up into her sad little face, and they followed him into the darkest room Amanda had ever seen. There were no windows. The room was lit by two candles on either side of a table that sat in the middle of the room. Petofi clanged the iron door shut behind them. To Amanda, he said, "Place the child on the table, please." At that time, Jamison decided to open his eyes. Instead of crying, as he would usually do, he babbled softly. "Now, Mrs. Douglas!" Amanda shut her eyes tightly, and placed her son in the custody of Count Petofi. "Now," Petofi said, in all seriousness, "Where is the payment?"

Quentin's eyes almost revealed the secret plan he had in his head. "I thought we agreed you would cure my son first."

"I thought you would be so grateful for my generous consideration that you would have brought Mr. Collins with you."

"You thought wrong, Petofi," Quentin said, danger eking out of every syllable in his voice.

Petofi's eyes were thoughtful. "Yes, you're quite right. I was wrong, perhaps – about trusting you. I am now reluctant to cure the boy."

Quentin stood more erect at this statement. "Why?" he asked powerfully.

"Yes, I am sure that it is a trick. You have no intention of bringing Mr. Collins here, do you?" Petofi asked, hatred spelled out in every pore of his body.

"I have every intention of bringing him here, Petofi," Quentin said tiredly.

"And why should you do that? People in Collinsport talk. They gossip. About weddings, perhaps." Quentin's eyes flashed in Petofi's direction. "Yes, Quentin. He was your best man. I know now that my payment would never be reached. I refuse to cure your son." Quentin looked at him, shocked, appalled, and ready to fight. "Quentin, tell me: how did it feel, every month afraid of the full moon, waking up the next morning not knowing what you had done?"

Quentin's posture slumped as he remembered his past life. Amanda looked at him curiously. This was the first she'd learned even a little bit about the curse. "I wanted to die," Quentin said, his voice trembling, "Or kill myself, before the full moon had risen."

Petofi nodded knowingly. "It will be the same for your son. Since you will not reach my payment for curing him, perhaps I should silence his misery now. He will never know it, nor will he know that he had existed." In a flash, Petofi grabbed a knife, and held it above the child. Amanda shrieked, and lunged forward, grabbing his hand. Petofi's arm relaxed as he withdrew it. Laughing, he said, "All right, Mrs. Douglas. You have passed the test." His manners changed to business-like again as he said, "Both of you wait outside while I cure the child."

Amanda looked up at Quentin, scared, but he simply nodded and directed Amanda out of the horrible room. Sergio was waiting outside the door. He smiled pleasantly yet evilly, and said, "Please, sit down. The Count wishes to demonstrate all hospitality at all times."

As they sit, Amanda mumbled under her breath, "Yes, killing one's child is a great demonstration of hospitality, isn't it?"

"Now, Amanda," Quentin said, putting an arm around her shoulders so she could lean on him, "You heard him. He's going to cure him."

"But he was going to kill Jamison!" Amanda whined loudly.

"It was just a test, I'm sure," Quentin said convincingly, yet he never took his eyes off that iron door.

Twenty minutes later, Petofi emerged with the boy. As he handed Jamison back to his mother, he said, "Such a marvelous child. You two are truly blessed."

"Yes, we are," Quentin said, smiling down at his now-perfect son.

As they move to leave, Petofi said, "Remember, Quentin. I want Barnabas Collins here – soon. If I do not have him here in a timely matter, I should not like to be in your place." Petofi picked up one of his cigars. "Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Douglas," he said as the couple ascended the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven – The Haunting

Water splashed around the green bathroom that was connected to the nursery. Quentin and Amanda were giving the baby a bath, now that he was used to water. Jamison had not smiled yet, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The two happy parents were kneeling next to the tub, happily getting soaked as Jamison flung his arms repeatedly into the clear water. Quentin was holding the boy tightly so he wouldn't drown, while Amanda was busy washing him. Those two people were absolutely giddy at this new thing called parenthood, and as they watched their son day by day, Petofi's payment – and his warning – seemed to ebb from their minds.

As Amanda washed away the last of the soap, she said in baby talk, "That wasn't so bad, was it, hearttums?" As she said this, she sprinkled his forehead with little kisses.

Jamison looked up at her with her eyes. Quentin chuckled, and said, "You capture his attention almost as much as you capture mine." They share a kiss over the baby, as he watches from the tub. "I'll dry him off if you'll clean out the tub."

Amanda smiled sweetly and said, "Okay."

Grinning from ear to ear, Quentin picked up his month-old baby boy from the somewhat sudsy water as Amanda pulled the plug. "He's so tiny," Quentin said, "I feel wrong drying him in this huge towel. It seems like a washcloth would take care of it." Amanda laughed in response, and the baby did the most amazing thing: he smiled for the first time. Quentin, awestruck, said, "Amanda, look!"

Amanda came closer, and looked at her child's beautiful smile. She met her husband's eyes, and they knew that they had created a miracle: a child named Jamison.

* * *

Quentin was sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee, and reading the newspaper. Amanda was upstairs, feeding the baby. He found he could not concentrate on local news while his baby had done the most remarkable thing today: smiled. As he recalled, babies weren't even supposed to smile before five weeks, and his child was only one month old. Smiling, he knew he had fathered a remarkable kid.

Amanda came down the stairs. She had left Jamison in his crib, which was something she would do if she felt like talking – really talking – with her husband. She plopped down next to Quentin, and said, "He's playing with his birdie."

"Oh?" Quentin said, his mouth upturned into a mischievous smile.

Amanda gave him a look. "You know what I mean."

Quentin laughed silently. "So I do." He put his arm around his wife as she leaned her head on his chest to rest. "Our child is amazing."

Amanda smiled tiredly as she closed her eyes. "Of course he is. He's your son."

With his other hand, he reached over and turned her face so that she was looking at him. "He's our son." He kissed her. At first he started with little pecks, then slowly began to kiss her romantically, as they did before the baby was present. Amanda straightened up, and put her arms around his neck, her hands running through his dark hair. He placed both hands around her waist, and leaned her back against the armrest of the sofa. Against her lips, he murmured, "I love you. God, I love you."

At this appropriate moment, Jamison decided to cry his little heart out. His wails were heard distinctly from both parents, and Quentin raised his head, looking up the stairs. Amanda sighed, and forced her way up. Quentin looked at her like a little boy who had Christmas taken away from him. Amanda looked back at him, shrugged disappointedly, and returned to her son's room.

His little nursery was now decorated completely, since they now knew what gender their baby was. Jamison was seated in the middle of his crib, mouth open wide as he cried at the top of his lungs. Amanda picked him up, saying a comforting, "Shhhh. It's all right. Mama's here, baby, mama's here." She bounced him a bit as his cries quieted down. Absently, she dried the tears that were rolling down his chubby cheeks. As soon as it was apparent that he was calmer, she sat with him in the rocking chair, as they rocked back and forth in a loving silence.

After a while, Quentin poked his head inside. "How is he?"

"Fine," Amanda said, almost in a whisper. At that moment, no one else existed but her son. Quentin noticed this, and backed out of the room silently. Softly, Amanda started humming a lullaby. Jamison's eyes started to flutter and close. His little mouth opened and closed, as if trying to get comfortable. Amanda looked down at her perfect little baby, at peace with the world, and she smiled, and leaned back, too. She was so tired. She wanted to sleep.

Amanda started to hear a soft voice in her ear. It was a man's voice, and she seemed to recognize it from somewhere. He said, "Amanda . . . please don't go with him . . . you'll die . . . you'll die . . ."

She opened her eyes abruptly. "I was only dreaming," she said firmly to herself, "No one's here – are they?" Scanning the room, she reassured herself, "No. I'm the only one here. Jamison and I are the only ones here."

Taking a deep breath, she leaned back in her chair again, only to hear the same voice say, "I know how you are, Amanda . . . you like diamonds and jewelry . . . all the things he could never give you . . . I know how you are . . ."

"Stop it!" Amanda screeched, putting her hands over her ears. She started to break down. "Stop it, I can't stand it, stop it!"

Quentin burst into the room, picked up the baby while Amanda curled into a ball in the chair, and asked, "What's wrong? You're you talking to? Who's in this room?"

Amanda tried to talk between sobs. "I don't know! I – (sob) – kept hearing – (sob) – a man's voice! He was saying – (sob) – how you aren't – (sob) – good enough for me!"

Quentin placed the baby in the crib, and turned to his helpless wife. "Now, now, Amanda," he said as he pulled her into a hug, "I'm here. No one is gonna hurt you. Just hold onto me, and you'll be all right." Amanda let go and sobbed loudly into his shoulder. As he heard her muffled sobs of anguish, he said, "That's right. Let it all out. Let it all go."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight – A Day in Bangor

The alarm clock pierced sharply as Amanda's hand fumbled for the off-switch. Groggily, she woke up, saw that Quentin was still asleep, then shook him awake. "Time to wake up, sweetie," she said, half-awake.

Quentin slowly sat up in bed. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Five o'clock," Amanda said, throwing off the covers.

"Oh," Quentin said, lying back down.

Amanda, noticing this, walked over to his side of the bed, and shook him again. "Quentin, wake up!"

"Why?" he asked, muffled by the pillow, his eyes still closed.

"We're going to Bangor, remember?"

"It's still dark outside," Quentin whined.

"We have to leave now to get there by seven."

Quentin opened his eyes, and stared at his wife disbelievingly. "And why do we have to be there at seven?"

"Because," Amanda said exasperatingly, "That's when the park opens."

"I didn't know parks could close," Quentin said sarcastically.

"Well, it doesn't – really," Amanda explained, "But the police start trying to keep people out of there when it gets dark."

"And why do they do that?" Quentin asked, irritated.

"Too many muggers," Amanda said sharply. She stood up, and said, "We planned to make a day of this, so you'd better get up, or Jamison and I are going without you." As she headed toward the hallway, she heard Quentin groan into his pillow. "You heard me." She paused for a second, and looked back at her drowsy husband. "Oh, by the way: happy anniversary, honey."

Still tired, Quentin threw of his covers, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Amanda wrapped a heavy coat around her as Quentin warmed up the car. January in Maine was almost unbearable for the actress who had been raised in New York, whose winters were rough, but not as harsh; for Quentin, however, native of Maine, the winters were actually something he looked forward to. He was very disappointed when there wasn't any snow.

Quentin signaled for his wife to come to the car. "It's all warmed up," he said loudly.

Smiling, Amanda picked up Jamison, who she had bundled warmly, almost until he couldn't move his little arms or legs. Looking at him, she couldn't help but think how cute he looked in his little hat. His attention, though, was caught on her dangling earring, which he tried to grasp. Noticing this, Amanda tugged her earring out of reach, saying, "No-no, darling. You don't mess with Mama's earring."

Adjusting her baby, she opened the door, and walked to the blue sedan. As she put her child in the baby seat, she said, "Now, be a good boy for Mama, okay, sweettums?" In response, the baby flailed his arms, grinning from ear to ear. Laughing, Amanda said, "That's right, sweettums." She kissed Jamison on the cheek, and got into the front seat where Quentin was already ready.

"Okay, are we all ready to go?" Quentin asked, looking in the rearview mirror at his son.

Again, Jamison smiled as Amanda said, "Ready." Quentin pulled out of the garage.

* * *

Quentin parked the car near the entrance. Amanda immediately hopped out and grabbed her son from the backseat, while Quentin opened the trunk and got out the stroller. It was 7:01, and the park was open.

They walked up to the entrance, Jamison in his stroller, which was being pushed by Amanda, and Quentin walking beside her, his hand around her waist. A guard was present at the gate. "Names, please?"

Quentin and Amanda looked at each other, confused. Quentin shrugged, and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Grant Douglas."

The guard looked at him, then turned to Amanda. "First name, please, Mrs. Douglas?"

Amanda and Quentin shared a worried look. "Olivia."

The guard's face brightened slightly. "Olivia Corey?"

"I used to be," Amanda said sheepishly.

"And who's this little guy?" the guard said, leaning down to see the child clearly.

Stiffly, Quentin said, "Jamison Douglas." The guard waved them through. As soon as they were out of earshot, Quentin said, "Now, I wonder what that was all about."

Amanda shrugged, and said, "Maybe they just want to know who entered and who didn't – for future reference."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Quentin said, pulling Amanda into a hug. She reluctantly let go of the stroller to hug him back. "Happy anniversary, honey," Quentin whispered in her ear before kissing it.

"Happy anniversary," Amanda said.

They kissed each other deeply in the middle of the pathway in the park. People passed them by, either giving them disapproving glances, or giggling as they walked pass them. As their lips separated, Amanda realized that people were staring at them – and not all their expressions were favorable. Quentin noticed her worried look, and said, "Hey." He reached up and touched her cheek. "They're just jealous."

Their son made soft gurgling noises from his stroller, and Amanda smiled. Quentin gave his famous lopsided grin as they returned their attention to the stroller.

They walked on for twenty minutes until Quentin found a place where they could sit down. There were two benches that were parallel to each other, but no one was sitting on the other bench. Behind the benches was a brick wall, that had ivy creeping over it, and a fountain that seemed to be built into it, but it wasn't turned on. Quentin said, "Let's stop here," and Jamison howled loudly.

Amanda, with a worried look on her face, said, "What's wrong?" as she picked him up. Feeling his diaper, a knowing look passed over her face. "Oh," she said, "I guess we'd better stop here."

Amanda quickly changed his diaper before anyone came; this part of the park seemed to be deserted, which, she thought to herself, was probably why Quentin decided to rest here. The baby babbled happily as the new diaper was placed on him and his mother redressed him. She placed him back in the stroller, and Quentin, panicked, said, "Why are you putting him in there?"

Amanda shrugged. "We stopped. We rested. Aren't we going to see the rest of the park?"

Quentin laughed nervously. "I didn't want to make a pit stop for a diaper change. I wanted us to be alone together. Honey," he said, coming close enough to her to put his arms around her, "It's our anniversary."

Amanda smiled. "I know, Quentin, but didn't we come here for a family outing?"

"Ann-i-ver-sar-y," Quentin said slowly as he leaned over and kissed her quickly. "Yes, we brought Jamison along, but he's perfectly happy in that stroller. Look at him."

Amanda turned and looked at her son, who was talking gibberish, looking down at his shoes. "He seems happy enough," Amanda said slowly. Looking up at her husband, she smiled lovingly, and said, "Where were we?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine – Wine for Dinner

They returned to their house around seven that night. Upon arrival, Quentin asked, "Why don't you lie Jamison down while I start dinner?"

Amanda looked at him, dumbfounded. He hadn't offered to make dinner since she was pregnant. "You're going to make dinner?"

"Well, actually . . ." Quentin started, sheepishly, "I thought we could make dinner. You know, as a couple." He choked down a laugh at that last word. He never referred to them as a couple except for a handful of times, and each time he could not keep a straight face.

Amanda smothered a smile. "All right. You start, we finish." With that, she trudged upstairs with Jamison, whose eyes had already started to close. Quentin smiled, went to the refrigerator, and retrieved the salmon which he had bought yesterday, unbeknownst to his wife.

Amanda walked down the stairs, and the scent of black beans filled the air. She looked over at her husband, who was grinning from ear to ear, holding up the salmon with raised eyebrows. Amanda felt so loved – salmon was her favorite, and Quentin had bought it especially for her. She looked down at the present she had bought, and felt a little ashamed. "Quentin, you shouldn't have."

He laughed and said, "Anything for my beautiful wife."

Tears of happiness started to escape her eyes. She tried to blink them away as she turned away from him. "Quentin, do you always have to be this perfect?"

"Always," Quentin joked from the kitchen. She turned to look at him, tears flowing freely, and he said, "Hey, Amanda, come on." He walked rapidly toward her, and wiped the tears from her face. "This wasn't the reaction I was expecting."

"Then how about this?" she asked as she got on her tip-toes and brushed her lips against his. Recovering, Amanda said, "I got you something, too." She handed him a beautifully wrapped round present.

"Well, what is it?" Quentin asked excitedly.

"Open it and see," she replied flatly.

Quentin quickly tore off the wrapping paper, revealing what looked like a round temperature gauge. "What is it?" Quentin asked, looking at the object curiously.

"It's a barometer!" Amanda wailed, as she started to cry. Startled, Quentin set the barometer down, and held his wife tightly. As soon as her tears subsided, she sniffled and explained, "Don't you remember? When I was in England, you wrote me, asking if I could bring you back a barometer." Wiping the last tear from her eye, she smiled and added, "So you could predict my stormy moods."

Quentin laughed, then smiled and said, "I love it. Wouldn't exchange it for anything else."

After a moment of silence, staring at each other with such rapture, Amanda wrinkled her nose. "What's burning?"

Quentin's eyes opened wide. As he ran towards the kitchen, he yelled, "The beans!" Pulling them off the stove, he said, "Damn!" He looked up at his wife. "They're burned, honey. Sorry."

Amanda shrugged, saying, "We'll just have to have the salmon without it." Cheerily entering the kitchen, she asked, "What can I do?"

Immediately business-like, Quentin said, "Cut the zucchini, squash, leeks, and mushrooms julienne."

"All right," Amanda said, smiling big. As she started cutting the vegetables, she glanced over at her husband, who was at the refrigerator. "What are you doing, honey?"

"This," he said simply as he pulled out a bottle of wine.

"Oh, honey," Amanda said disapprovingly, "Not while we're cooking."

"Why not? It's the best time to drink," he said, struggling with the cork. At last it popped off, and Quentin immediately starting filling two glasses. "One for you, my lady," he said, handing her a glass of the crimson liquid.

She smiled uncertainly, staring at the glass. Without touching it, she continued to cut the vegetables. Quentin cleared his throat, causing Amanda to look up at him. "Quentin, darling, you know I don't drink."

"Honey," he said quietly, "It's our anniversary."

Sighing, she reached for the glass, and gulped it down. It tasted good at first, but the burning aftertaste made her face scrunch up. Quentin laughed at her expression, while Amanda just got angry. "All right, you've had your fun. The vegetables are cut. Now what?"

"Now we put the fish, the vegetables, the seasoning, the soy sauce . . ." he said as he put it all into parchment paper. He raised a finger, ducked below the counter, and produced another bottle of wine – white wine, this time. "Some white wine . . ." Looking at it, he shrugged and took a swig. Afterwards, he saw Amanda staring at him somewhat angrily. "What?" Quentin feigned an innocent look. "Some for the fish, some for me."

"I think you've had enough," Amanda said, taking the bottle away from him.

"Oh-ho, so you want it all for yourself, huh?" Amanda looked at his arrogant face and slapped him. He smirked at her. "I don't think you should have anymore liquor. It makes you violent."

"I do not drink!" she cried.

"For a reason."

"Oh, and how do you know so much about me?" Amanda said angrily.

"Oh, I know all about you, Amanda," Quentin said, coming increasingly closer, "I knew about you the first time I looked into your beautiful dark eyes, misted over with all your little secrets." He laughed curtly. "You'd better get used to it, my dear. I'm your husband, and it's my business to know." With that, he took her into his arms, and kissed her – hard. Amanda tried to resist, for argument's sake, but she couldn't. She melted in his very arms.

* * *

They decided to have dinner on the floor – once they got around to cooking it. After their meal was over, though, Quentin again tried to entice Amanda to drink with him. "C'mon, Amanda," he whined as he tried to pass her the bottle, "It's our anniversary. Cut loose."

Scoffing at him, she gave him a flirty smile as she grabbed the bottle. "Okay, but only this one time. All I need is my drunken picture plastered on the tabloids."

"You mean the Collinsport Gazelle?" Quentin joked. Amanda rolled her eyes, and drank a substantial amount. "That's a girl," Quentin applauded.

"Is this the kind of thing you used to do with your women?" Amanda teased.

Quentin stared at her seriously. "How do you know?"

"About what?" Amanda asked casually.

"My women," he said softly.

"Quentin," Amanda said, exasperated, "We lived in Collinsport. Word gets around."

"Did Trask tell you?"

"Quentin!" Amanda half whined.

"All right, all right," Quentin said, giving up the fight. "It's just – I never wanted you to know."

"Don't worry, it never changed my mind."

"About what?"

"You, silly," she said, giggling. He took a swig, and passed it back to her. Amanda felt like the next drink was different. Her head started to swim, and she felt dizzy. Instantly, she knew she was getting drunk. She had never really tasted alcohol before, especially wine. Quentin reached over, grabbed the bottle from her, and whispered in her ear, "Happy anniversary, Amanda Collins."

"Happy anniversary." He took her face in his hands, and kissed her softly. Lifting his face so he could see her clearly, he smiled and kissed her more passionately as she leaned back until her back touched the floor . . .


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten – Love Grows Where Quentin and Amanda Go

One month later found them still living happily in their house. Jamison was four months, and growing every day. Now Amanda doesn't need Quentin to help her with the baby's bath; Jamison had grown so big that she could manage by herself. As Amanda was drying off her son in his blue fluffy towel, Quentin walked into the bathroom. "Amanda," he said, "How much longer are you gonna be with the baby?"

"Well, I don't know, honey," Amanda said, her eyes fixed on her husband, staring innocently, "Why? Do you need the bathroom?"

Quentin sighed. "No, I just wondered how long it could be before we could have the chance to talk, that's all."

"Oh," Amanda said, "Well, after Jamison's bath, he needs to be diapered, dressed, and fed."

"So, I guess you'll be a while."

"Yes," she said, turning her attention back to her child. As she dried his dark hair, Quentin turned around and left the bathroom.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Amanda came downstairs after taking a nap to find her husband devotedly applying his attention to his four-month-old son. Clearing her throat, she said, "If you want to talk, Quentin -."

Quentin looked up from Jamison, who was seated on his father's lap, smiling from ear to ear. "Oh, it's all right, honey – the talk can wait.

"Oh," she said, downcast, as she sat next to her family. Attempting a smile, she looked at Jamison. "What have you two been up to?"

"Oh, you know, playing games, telling secrets," Quentin said, smiling at his son.

"Hasn't he cried or made any fuss – you know, needed to be fed or diapered?" Amanda asked quizzically.

"Nope – he's a pretty good kid."

"He's perfect," she said, sweetly, solemnly as she took his chubby little hand in hers. Jamison's attention diverted his mother, and a silent yet strong connection passed between them. Suddenly, Jamison wanted to be held by Amanda, and made it known with little gestures that could easily be described as baby sign language. Touched, Amanda said, "Awww, does ittle baby Jamesey want to be with Mama? Huh? Yes, he does." She picked him up and sat him on her lap, where the baby smiled and tried to grab the earrings that brushed against her shoulders.

"You know," Quentin said, irritated, "Jamison and I were having a perfectly good father-son bonding session before you came down." Amanda stared at him incredulous. "And whose decision was it to call him 'Jamesey'?"

"If you want me to go, honey, I will," Amanda said stiffly, standing up with Jamison in her arms. "And if you must know, I've been calling him 'Jamesey' for weeks."

Amanda began to ascend the stairs when Quentin grabbed her by the arm. "Wait, I didn't mean to criticize you like that. You've been here with the baby all week while I worked, and I can understand that you're attached, but -."

"Attached!" Amanda said, finally upset. "Is that what you call it? The undying love that I feel and will continue to feel for my son is mere attachment? I love my child, Quentin!"

"I know, honey, I know, but it's Saturday," Quentin said, putting his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down.

"What does Saturday have to do with it?" Amanda said, confused. "Is that the day when love becomes attachment?"

"No," Quentin said, almost laughing, "It's the day that I finally get to spend with my son, without worrying about work or any other stressful things in my day. I need to spend time with my son, Amanda."

Quentin ended his speech seriously, his blue eyes bearing into her dark orbs. Hesitantly, Amanda handed him the baby. As Quentin smiled at his son, Jamison's face began to change; he began to cry. Quentin's smile altered, as he felt the bottom of his diaper: it was wet. He turned around to face his wife, smiling apologetically as he attempted to hand her the child. Amanda smirked and said, "Oh, no. You wanted father-son bonding? Well, my dear, you have it!"

* * *

Amanda was sitting up in bed, reading a new nonfiction book: _The Sensuous Man_ by an author simply named "M". Amanda wondered how this book could possibly be the best-selling book of the year so far – it was basically a manual for men that she had found under Quentin's pillow. How could modern men read such trash, Amanda wondered. Throwing it aside, she made a mental note to throw it away before Quentin finds it missing.

Quentin emerged from the bathroom in his pajamas, smelling of toothpaste. He settled in his side of the bed, and stealthily reached under his pillow. Not finding his book in place, his movements became more frantic. "It's not there," Amanda said quietly.

Blushing, Quentin said, "What do you mean?"

"Your new book," she said quietly, picking it up from her nightstand. "I have it now."

He made a futile attempt to grab the book from her, but she placed it down out of his reach. "Amanda, give it back," Quentin said sternly.

"Why?" Amanda said. "Do you think we have – problems?"

"Well," Quentin said thoughtfully, "We're not as close as we were, and I thought it might have something to do with me."

"Who gave you this trash, anyway?" Amanda said heatedly.

"Professor Stokes. He lent it to me, so if you please." Quentin extended his hand.

Ignoring her husband, Amanda continued with the discussion. "You mean that friend of Barnabas and Julia? He had this laying around?"

"Think about it, Amanda. The man has no girlfriend. He needs something."

"Why did he think that you needed – something?" Amanda asked curiously.

"Well," he said hesitantly, "We haven't been – close – for a while now, and I thought I was doing something wrong."

"See, that's what's wrong with the modern man today," Amanda vented, "In 1897, no one talked about this openly, there were no books on it, everything was private and perfect." She leaned closer to him. "You aren't doing anything wrong, honey. You're perfect."

"Then why haven't we been together since our anniversary?"

"Because I'm here with the baby, you're at work, we both get tired," Amanda explained.

"I'm not tired," Quentin said softly.

"Neither am I," Amanda said, their eyes meeting as he turned off the lights.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven – Hostages

"Scrub, scrub, scrub – that's all I do," Amanda sighed.

Quentin was at work all day, she thought to herself. Why should he have all the fun? Even though she was a Victorian woman, some of the women's liberation movement made sense to her. She wanted to do more than housework and daycare. Sure, she was an actress, but movies never seem to ask for the motherly type nowadays.

As Amanda tackled the suds, Jamison played with a lone Cheerio left over from his breakfast. Quentin had rushed him to the hospital a month ago when his eyes started to change from doe-brown to baby blue. The doctor had simply laughed and told him that the eye color babies receive at birth is rarely one that will follow him to adulthood, and that blue is probably the color that will remain for life. Quentin may have been upset, but Amanda was secretly delighted – her tiny son would someday be the spitting image of his handsome father. However, the doctor did tell them that his teeth were starting to come in – and they were overjoyed.

Amanda looked back on her baby boy, who was in the process of securing the Cheerio between his finger and thumb, and placing it into his mouth. Smiling, Amanda returned to her dishes.

The front door slammed, alarming her. She perked her head up, and noticed her happy hubby approaching. "Hey, beautiful," he said, pecking her cheek. "And how's Jamison, the little stud?"

"I wish you'd stop calling him that," Amanda sighed, scraping crusted cheese off a plate.

"As long as you want him to look like me, he might as well act like me, too," Quentin said irritably.

"Why are you home early, honey?" Amanda asked tensely.

"I got a promotion," he said, grinning lopsidedly.

Amanda froze for two seconds, then squealed and leapt into his arms. "Really?"

"Yeah," Quentin laughed, "You're looking at a customer service advisor for the Collins Cannery!"

Looking up at her husband, she asked, "How much more a week?"

"Two dollars." Amanda stared at him disbelievingly. "I know, it's great, huh?"

"Oh, honey, I could kiss you!" Smiling at him, laughing, she kissed him on his mouth.

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, then said quietly, "One gets you two." They kissed again.

At first, no one was paying attention to Jamison, who was gurgling silently at his highchair, but then as he looked at his parents, an internal struggle was finally fought and won: "Dada."

The pair looked at each other, shocked. Quentin knelt slightly to his son, and said, "What did you say?"

Jamison looked at his father nonchalantly, blue meeting blue. Once again, he said, "Dada."

Quentin straightened and smiled slightly as one would after winning the lottery. "Amanda did you hear that?" He whipped around to face her. "Amanda, he said, 'Dada'." He lunged toward her, holding her to him. "He said, 'Dada'!" Quentin separated himself just enough so he could lean down and kiss his wife.

* * *

That evening, after dinner, Quentin and Amanda were seated in the living room, Jamison on the floor, crawling around. The two were talking calmly, each keeping one eye on Jamison as he explored all of the living room.

"Want some more coffee, honey?" Amanda asked as she poured some into her own cup. They figured the coffee table was so high up that Jamison couldn't reach the scalding hot coffee pot placed above.

"No, thanks, honey." Quentin leaned back on the sofa, letting a tired sigh of contentment escape him. "I'm a customer service advisor." After a brief pause, he added, "And my son said his first word today."

"I know. It's been a magical day."

Coming forward and slapping his hands on his knees, Quentin said, "Well, isn't it about time you did the dishes?" Instantaneously, Amanda started to bawl. Shocked and worried, Quentin said, "All right, you don't have to do them. I'll wash the dishes, and you can keep an eye on Jamison."

"Honey, you don't understand!" Amanda said, wiping tears from her eyes. "I do this kind of grunt work every day! You get to leave, get out of the house! I'm chained to the house! I want out!" Quietly, she added, "I want a job, too."

Quentin furrowed his brow in thought. "Amanda, you have a job. You're an actress."

"Yes, but no one is hiring right now, and if nobody hires me, then I don't earn any money, and I don't get out of the house."

"You get to go to the grocery store, don't you?"

As Quentin cowed slightly under his wife's icy stare, no one noticed Jamison pulling on a cord, a very important one: the one hooked up to the security system Quentin and Amanda had bought to protect themselves from Petofi. No one noticed that the cord gave way, and no one noticed two shadowy figures emerging, taking advantage of the situation. By the time anyone could do anything about it, the intruders were already breaking down the front door.

Quentin stood protectively in front of Amanda, while she hurriedly scooped young Jamison into her arms. The door finally gave way, and Petofi and Sergio emerged from the splintered wood. "I demand my price now, Quentin; you've evaded my presence for too long."

"Not because I don't want to pay your price, Petofi," Quentin lied quickly, "I just need to figure out a plan sound enough to bring Barnabas to you. You know he'll never come on his own. You have to trust me."

"Yet Barnabas Collins trusts you," Petofi said, grinning, "There should be no problem in enticing him away from his house. Therefore, Quentin, I do not trust you, and I suggest that you retain Barnabas Collins immediately, or you shall all be my hostages."

Bravado beginning to rise, Quentin said forcefully, "And if we refuse, Petofi?"

"My payment shall be the boy." Amanda gasped and clutched Jamison even tighter to her heart. "Really, Quentin, you should give me more credit," Petofi chortled, "At least grant me the privilege of having half a brain."

"Why do you want Jamison," Amanda demanded softly.

"Every man needs servants, my dear. If I gain control of the young lad, I shall remove my cure, and make him susceptible to my demands, even in his – shall we say, his animalistic state."

"You wouldn't," Quentin hissed.

"Indeed, my boy, I would," Petofi said seriously, "I shall effect that plan this instant if you do not bring Barnabas Collins to me within the hour."

"What do you want with Barnabas anyway?" Amanda asked.

"I have a score to settle," Petofi said somberly. "Quentin, I believe your wife is anxious for us to leave – if you want your family intact, I suggest an immediate trip to the Old House."

Quentin looked over at his wife; her eyes were dewy with tears. Her eyes reached him so much, that he nodded to Petofi, and set out in the night to locate and betray his friend.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve – Horrible Night

Quentin arrived at the Old House faster than ever before – he remembered in what company he had left his son and his wife. He vigorously knocked on the door, until Barnabas Collins appeared. Barnabas took one look at the state of his long-time friend, and said, "Quentin, what's wrong?"

"You have to come with me now," Quentin said.

"Where?" Barnabas inquired.

"To my house. Something's happened – you just have to come," Quentin said, panicked.

"Oh?" Barnabas raised his eyebrows. He could always tell when Quentin was keeping something from him. "My I ask what the trouble is?"

"Barnabas, there's no time," Quentin said sternly, "You just have to come with me."

"Do I?" Barnabas asked, a suspicious look on his face.

"Barnabas, my wife is in danger," Quentin said softly, "If you won't help me, I'll find someone who can."

Barnabas mulled this over for a moment, nodded, got his cane and coat, and followed Quentin to his car.

* * *

Back at Quentin's house, Amanda was getting worried about her husband. Petofi had given him an hour, and it was already half gone. She looked down at Jamison, and knew he felt the strain, too. She could feel a cry coming on.

"What's that baby doing?" Sergio asked nervously.

Just then, Jamison gave a piercing wail. "Crying," Amanda said flatly.

"Can't you do something about it?" Sergio demanded.

"I could put him in his nursery," Amanda suggested, "He might feel safer there."

"An excellent idea, Mrs. Douglas," Petofi said brightly, "Sergio, go, accompany the young lady." To his servant, he said quietly, "This might be a trap. Do not let her out of your sight."

Sergio nodded, and said, "Come on, let's go." He made Amanda walk in front of him as they ascended the stairs to the nursery.

Just then, Quentin and Barnabas arrived. They entered the house, Quentin knowing, but Barnabas unknowing. As soon as Barnabas crossed the threshold, he saw the man who wanted his revenge so badly. "Petofi," Barnabas hissed in his most menacing voice.

"And so we meet again, Mr. Collins," Petofi said pleasantly, "But I suppose that is no surprise to you." Petofi looked at Quentin questioningly, dubious that Quentin hadn't forewarned his prisoner.

Quentin gave a silent shake of his head, while Barnabas replied, "Nothing you could do would surprise me any longer, Petofi. But I thought you died in that fire."

Petofi chortled. "I nearly did – thanks to you. But," Petofi gave a big sigh of contentment, "I didn't. Blackwood did, though – poor man."

"Poor man?" Barnabas said, amused, "The man almost killed you."

"Yes, but I have . . . respect for evil, Mr. Collins," Petofi said, smiling big, "Like you. I have respect for you."

"I am not evil, Petofi," Barnabas said confidently.

"Aren't you?" Petofi asked, also amused by their game – a game of meaningless words. "You suck life from the innocent. Is that not evil?"

Barnabas looked away from the man, remembering who he once was: the nights when he would wait on the docks for a woman of less virtue of others to walk by on chance, to talk to him . . . "I'm not that way any longer, Petofi," Barnabas said finally.

"Oh, really?" Petofi said, sincerely interested. "Has Angelique let you go of her curse?"

"Yes," Barnabas said forcefully.

"Amazing," Petofi chortled, "Simply amazing. Angelique must be mortal in her heart, if not in her soul."

"She is completely mortal now, Petofi," Barnabas said.

"Well, I will have the chance to catch up, shall we say, when we return to my humble abode."

"The old mill?" Barnabas smirked. Petofi nodded. "You are so predictable, Petofi. If I should have happened to be looking for you, it would not have been terribly hard."

"But you weren't, Mr. Collins," Petofi said, an air of superiority around him, "I was looking for you, and knew just how to bring you forth into my trap."

"Trap?" Barnabas queried, now himself nervous.

"Yes, Mr. Collins. What an excellent ploy it was to use your most faithful friend to bring you to me." Petofi looked over at Quentin, who had winced at the revealing of his part in this scheme. "Wasn't it, Quentin?"

Barnabas whipped around, and searched every inch of Quentin's face for the truth. He realized that Quentin had brought him, unknowing, to an enemy's lair. "Quentin?" he said, his voice almost begging for a negation to this terrible truth.

Quentin finally looked his friend, the man who he had trusted more than anything, his best man at his wedding to the one true love of his life, and he said, "I'm sorry, Barnabas."

Barnabas looked down at the floor – he could not dare look at the one man who had betrayed him. "An excellent trick, Petofi," Barnabas admitted. "Very ingenious."

"Quite," Petofi agreed, "Shall we depart for my place of business?" Barnabas nodded, and they both headed for the door. As an afterthought, Petofi added, "You, too, Quentin."

"But what about Amanda?" Quentin queried anxiously.

"She will be safe. Sergio is looking after her," Petofi smirked. All three headed out to the old mill.

* * *

Upstairs, while Amanda was placing the baby in its crib, Sergio was looking out the window. "Looks like they're leaving," he said.

"What?" Amanda gasped, rushing over to look, too.

"Guess that means he wants me to look after you," Sergio said, eyeing Amanda with malice. He pulled out a curving knife from his coat pocket. "I suggest you sit down." Amanda froze, mesmerized by the knife. "Sit down!" Sergio demanded. Amanda nodded and complied. After a few minutes of silence, Sergio started to converse with her. "You know you're very beautiful?"

Amanda's lips tightened. "I've heard – from my husband."

Sergio laughed curtly. "So, you want to put on little girl airs with me, huh?" The man jumped forward, bringing the knife very close to Amanda's throat. "You know, if you bug me, I could kill you – for spite – and leave your body here for Quentin to find."

"Please don't," Amanda whimpered.

Sergio pulled the knife back from her throat, and trailed a single finger down her cheek. "Such pretty, soft skin – I wouldn't want to hurt it." A tear followed his trail. "Oh, now, don't cry!" Sergio exploded, "I wasn't really gonna hurt you!" Amanda sniffled and wiped away her tear. "Hey, you could just be acting for me," Sergio reasoned, "I heard you're an actress. That true?"

"Yes," Amanda said softly.

"I would've guessed," Sergio said, "You're pretty enough to come from Hollywood."

"I don't come from Hollywood," she said.

"Oh?" Sergio asked.

"I was born in New York."

"Theatre actress, huh?" Sergio asked, not really interested in the subject anymore.

"Yes."

After a pause, Sergio started to talk with her again. "I guess, as an actress, you get big romantic roles?" Sergio asked, suddenly interested.

"Sometimes."

"And maybe you have to kiss someone you don't like?" Sergio asked, his eyes on her, searching.

It suddenly dawned on Amanda what he was after. She tried to dissuade him. "A job is a job – I'm paid to kiss people I don't like." After she said that, she knew it came out all wrong. Sergio reached in his back pocket, pulled out a wallet, and threw a multitude of bills at her feet. "I –I meant – that if – you know, we were on stage – and it was in a script – then it might happen – I don't kiss people for money," she stammered.

"I don't, either," Sergio said, coming ever closer to Amanda. She tried to stand, but Sergio pulled out his knife again, and said, "Uh-uh. Stay in the chair, Amanda, or the Dancing Lady will dance the dance of death for you." Sergio knelt beside the chair. "Besides, you don't really hate me that much, do you?"

"I hate both you and Petofi for what Quentin and I have went through these past months!" Amanda vented.

Sergio slapped her. Amanda started to cry again. "Now, I know you didn't mean that," Sergio said softly as he rose, and brought Amanda to a standing position, also. He tried to kiss her, but she kept her lips tucked inside her mouth. Sergio brought the knife to throat level again, and she let go. After one kiss, she tried to back away, but Sergio's grip became rough, and he threw her on the floor. During the two hours that Amanda and Sergio spent together, all she could think was, "Quentin, where are you?"

* * *

Petofi and Quentin arrived safely to his house, whereby Petofi took his servant and left. After breathing a huge sigh of relief, Quentin charged up the stairs. "Amanda? Amanda!" Quentin yelled, reaching the nursery.

He opened the door, and saw Amanda, leaning on the crib, crying. His expression immediately softened. "Amanda, what's wrong."

She shook her head. She could never tell him – never. "What happened to Barnabas?" she asked in a semi-steady voice.

Quentin's expression saddened. "He was locked up in a room."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Quentin said, "Petofi wouldn't tell me anything. The next step is to tell Angelique."

"You know where she is?" Amanda asked.

"Of course," Quentin said, "At the Old House. Apparently, while Barnabas was away, they got remarried."

"They were already married?" Amanda asked, astonished.

"Yeah," Quentin said vaguely. He knew something was bothering her, but he couldn't understand what. "Amanda, why don't you just tell me what's wrong?" Amanda started to cry again. Quentin wrapped his arms around her, and said, "Hey, now, don't cry. Just tell me."

Lost in his embrace, Amanda tried to put to words what had happened. "He – he forced me to kiss him," she choked. Quentin's face immediately got red with anger. "Then, he – he threw me to the floor – then he –he -."

Amanda didn't say anymore, but Quentin could surmise what had happened. "You stay here, Amanda," he said calmly, but his expression revealed much, much more.

"Where are you going?" Amanda asked, still crying.

"To take care of business – business with Sergio." With that said, he bounded down the stairs and out of the house.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen – Delayed Vengeance

Quentin approached the iron door, out of breath. He bent over involuntarily – he had run two miles to reach his destination. A sudden surge of new strength rose in him, and he thrust open the door and glided down the stairs two at a time. When he reached the floor, he saw Petofi sitting calmly, puffing on a cigarillo. "Where is he?" Quentin demanded.

"I assume you are speaking of Barnabas Collins, who is denied visitors of any kind at this time." Petofi turned to face Quentin. "Later, perhaps, I will allow you to see him."

"Where is Sergio?" Quentin asked, equally as forceful – he was not about to be daunted by his most dangerous enemy.

"Sergio?" Petofi asked, perplexed. "What the devil do you want with Sergio?"

"Are you aware of what he did to my wife while you secured your so-called prisoner?" Quentin said, suddenly realizing that Petofi had no idea what had transpired between Amanda and Sergio.

"I assumed all was well," Petofi said, "Please accept my deepest apologies, Quentin, if my servant has done something out of line."

"Out of line is hardly the word for it," Quentin said, angered, "And I don't want your apologies, Petofi, I want to deal with Sergio."

Petofi merely chuckled. "As you wish, Quentin."

He ambled into another room while Quentin waited in the living area, anxious to see Sergio so he could pound an apology out of him – as well as a few teeth for good measure. Sergio came into the room, took one look at Quentin, then turned around, heading for the hallway. Quentin pounced, and grabbed Sergio by the collar. While Sergio struggled against Quentin's force, Quentin said, "No you don't, Sergio. You're going to stay right here and explain why I should let you live after what you did to Amanda."

"Please!" Sergio cried, still struggling, "Have mercy!"

"Oh-ho, have mercy?" Quentin said with empty mirth. "Now let me ask you – is that what my wife begged of you before you touched her?"

"I didn't mean any harm! Believe me!" Sergio cried, tears of fear starting to roll down his tan cheeks.

"Now that's the sickest joke of all!" Quentin said, throwing the man down on the floor. Quentin was nearly a head taller than him, and he knew he couldn't fight against that force. All he could do was try to squeal and run like a frightened mouse. As soon as the man hit the floor, Quentin picked him up by the front of his shirt. "This is your unlucky day, Sergio, because I mean you harm – great harm."

Quentin's face inches away, Sergio cried, "Please! I couldn't help myself! She was so beautiful – surely you can understand that!"

"All I understand is that my wife is crying in the nursery because you took away every bit of pride and dignity she had!" Quentin growled loudly. His sneer became apparent as his face twisted into a sadistic smile like the Quentin of old. "How does it feel, knowing you're going to die tonight?"

A look of complete shock overtook Sergio's face as Quentin let him slowly touch the ground, as Quentin's hands reached around his throat. The choking suddenly grew stronger as Quentin's full anger surfaced. Quentin stopped abruptly, though, as he felt a chill on his shoulder, along with mild pressure – the touch of a hand. Quentin stopped killing Sergio as he turned around to face the intruder, and found himself being confronted by his former wife, Jenny, who looked the same as the day she died: her green dress clean, fitting her voluptuous figure wonderfully; her flaming red hair tied back in an orderly fashion; and her face, clear from madness, her green eyes staring at Quentin with calm steadiness and saneness. "Stop, Quentin," she said in a breathless, soft voice.

"Jenny," Quentin said disbelievingly.

"You must not kill him," Jenny said.

"You don't know what he's done!" Quentin exclaimed, "You don't know what he's done to Amanda!"

"If only you'd loved me as you love her," Jenny said wistfully, her eyes sad, "Still, you cannot take this man's life."

"Why not?!" Quentin yelled, tears of deep anguish over what his wife's going through seeped out from his eyes. "Why shouldn't I kill him?! He deserves it!"

"No one deserves to be murdered, Quentin," Jenny said in the same calm voice, "Leave him alone. He will not touch her again."

"How do you know that?" Quentin's voice was calmer, his irritation and sorrow being masked with curiosity.

"I will look after her now," Jenny said, her confidence in herself swelled, "As long as I am watching over her, she will never be harmed."

With that, the spirit disappeared, leaving Quentin alone and mystified. "Jenny?" he asked in a childlike fashion. He sunk to his knees, and put his face in his hands. "Jenny!" he said, words choked by tears. While Quentin was in this state, a very confused Sergio scampered away, unnoticed. He would never be seen again for a week. Quentin eventually picked himself off the floor, and walked home, dazed.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen – Business as Usual

Amanda lowered her baby boy into his crib. His blue eyes were crinkled closed. Jamison was nearly double his original height, and soon the crib would have to be replaced.

Amanda looked around the room. The sun shone through the window; sunbeams danced on Jamison's silent face. Sighing, she forced herself to look at the spot were Sergio forced himself upon her. It had been three months, and the reality had become easier, but she still had not accepted the fact, or the guilt pent up inside of her.

She heard faint footsteps ascending the stairs. Her first reaction was fear, but she realized that Quentin must be home. She heard the footsteps stop in front of the nursery door. She turned around, her expression was of terror, but there stood her husband, confused at being welcomed this way. "Quentin!" she cried in relief.

"Amanda, what's wrong?" Quentin asked, puzzled.

"Nothing, it's just . . ." She let out an embarrassed laugh. "I still have trouble, you know? I . . . I keep reminding myself. Even being in this room terrifies me."

"Hey," Quentin said, coming to his wife, enclosing her in an embrace, "Now, nothing's gonna happen to you. I'm here."

"What if it happens and you're not here?" Amanda asked, muffled by his clothes.

"Then someone else will have to look after you," Quentin said softly, looking up at the roof, as if Jenny were going to ascend at that moment. He clapped her lovingly on the shoulder, and said, "How's Jamison?"

"Sleeping," Amanda said, her head still buried in Quentin. She never wanted to let go.

"Sleeping?" Quentin said. A mischievous intonation of his word made Amanda look up. A silent understanding passed between them, and knowing smiles crept up on both their faces. Quentin kissed her passionately, while Amanda, just as passionately, reached up to the back of his head to pull him closer to her. Quentin began to lead her across the room as they kissed. He slowly lowered Amanda into the rocking chair, but as the chair began to wobble, Amanda pushed back on Quentin, and he fell to the ground below her. "Now what's wrong?" Quentin asked irritably as he sat up.

"I – I just can't!" Amanda cried, sobbing hysterically.

She stood up and headed for the door. "Amanda!" Quentin yelled after her.

"I can't!" she screamed, running for the bedroom. Quentin heard their bedroom door slam and sighed. It was going to take a while.

Amanda woke up from her afternoon nap at five o'clock. Crying tired her out so much that she often times found herself so sleepy. Quentin understood this, and usually left her alone for a while.

Still rubbing her eyes, Amanda descended the staircase, and found Quentin playing his old gramophone and making dinner. Jamison was sitting in his highchair, babbling tunefully to Quentin's song. Amanda still remembered the first time he had sung his song to her . . . how they danced and kissed . . . the first time she knew she was falling in love with him.

Jamison was not the only one singing – Quentin was also humming along, the words being dispensed with since Amanda thought them "gloomy". "Hello, Quentin," Amanda yawned.

Quentin's face immediately brightened. "Sit down, honey, dinner's almost ready."

Amanda went to the highchair, and caressed her son's chubby cheek. Jamison looked up at her with his big blue eyes, smiled, and said, "Mama."

Amanda smiled and picked him up. While playing with her baby, she asked, "What's for dinner?"

"Clam chowder," Quentin said, returning his attention to the stove.

"Mmmmm," Amanda said to Jamison, "Dada knows how to make the best chowder, doesn't he?" Amanda asked her child in baby talk.

"I should – I've been practicing for eighty years," Quentin said smilingly.

Amanda smiled and sat down on the sofa. While bouncing Jamison on her knee, she said, "I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's all right," Quentin said comfortingly.

"No, it's not."

Amanda was starting to get upset again. The record spun its last three notes before ending the song. The scratching of the needle brought the attention of little Jamison. He pointed to the red gramophone, and said, "Wecod."

"Yes, honey, record," Amanda said sternly, almost crying again. "Quentin, we really should talk about this."

"Can't wait until after dinner?" Quentin said, irritated.

"All right, fine," Amanda said in an offended voice, "Everything in the world can wait until after dinner as far as you're concerned. In fact, I'm surprised that you didn't wake me up so that you wouldn't have to tear yourself away from listening to your damn record!"

"Wecod," Jamison reasserted.

Quentin clanged down the lid to the chowder pot, and rushed over to the two. "Amanda, I have taken just about all I can stand. You want to talk about it now, but what about three hours ago? Why must I have to work around your schedule, when you won't even attempt to work around mine?"

"Quentin!" Amanda said, appalled that Quentin talked to her this way. Sure, they'd had their fights, but nothing like this. Amanda looked at the carpet. "I'm sorry, honey, I had no idea."

"Hey, listen," Quentin said, looking away. He knew he'd stepped over a line, and the pain he was going through from that fact alone was written all over his face. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it like that. If you want to talk now, we'll talk."

"It's just – I'm afraid I'll be different for you . . . spoiled," Amanda said. The words came out stiffly, as if she didn't expect them.

"Oh, Amanda, whatever that bastard did to you will never make you different," Quentin said, kneeling down, stroking her arm. "I'll always love you, and nothing will ever change the image I have of you. If that's what you're afraid of . . . you have nothing to worry about." Quentin smiled, and pressed his lips against hers. Bearing his crooked smirk, he said, "Why don't we forget about the chowder, put Jamison to bed, and have some . . . alone time?"

"Later," Amanda said slyly, pecking him on the mouth, "After dinner."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen – Guardian Angel

Amanda unbuckled Jamison from his car seat. As soon as he was free, he wriggled a bit before Amanda lifted him up, and placed him on the ground. Jamison could walk a little now, stronger than the month before, but he still needed the support of a loving parent. Amanda bent down, holding both his hands, while the little boy stepped forward. Amanda practically pushed him to the door, though – he was late to his first birthday party.

Quentin was standing by the door as Amanda opened the door. "Happy birthday, kiddo," Quentin said, putting a paper hat on his head. Quentin looked up at Amanda and winked. He straightened from his kneeling position and kissed her quickly. "Any trouble?" he asked.

"No," she said brightly, "I'll go get the cake." She turned around and walked toward the door, while Quentin directed Jamison toward the awaiting crowd.

Quentin walked into the living room with Jamison, and everyone oohed and ahhed. Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes, now widowed, was there; David and his beautiful girlfriend Hallie were in attendance; Julia Hoffman attended on Barnabas' behalf, and her glares were noticed across the room, but no one really said anything; Angelique, Barnabas' wife, was there, too, sad, melancholy, and distant; and Carolyn invited Maggie Haskell and her husband, Joe. They were all arranged in the living room, and as soon as the birthday boy walked into the living room, the group started singing "Happy Birthday".

As soon as the song ended, everyone started clapping. David, now a wonderful photographer, took a picture of the birthday boy. The flash, however, startled him, and he grabbed hold of his father's leg. Carolyn, who was seated right next to him, extended her arms, and said, "Come on, honey. Come see your Auntie Carolyn." The boy stumbled gratefully into Carolyn's arms. The young widow had come multiple times to visit, so the boy recognized and trusted her.

"Smile, Carolyn," David said cheerily, snapping another photo in Carolyn's face.

Carolyn frowned and held Jamison tighter. "Stop it, David, you're frightening him."

"Sorry, Carolyn," David said, crushed.

Carolyn rolled her eyes, and said, "If you must take pictures, go take them of the cake."

David smirked and walked toward the kitchen. Quentin smiled and took notice of the room. Jamison was safe in Carolyn's arms, so he sat in David's seat, next to Hallie and Julia. He smiled at Julia, who just looked away in disdain, and started talking to Angelique. Uneasily, he turned to Hallie, and said, "Hello."

"Hi," she said, wringing her hands. She seemed overly concerned about something. Quentin didn't really know Hallie, but Carolyn explained that she was her nephew's girlfriend. "I'm Hallie, David's girlfriend."

"I know. Carolyn told me." Her hands increased in their wringing. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

Hallie looked up at the host with frightened eyes. "No! I mean, I – I don't do well with strangers."

"Oh. I see." Quentin smiled sadly at her. "I hope you don't feel too uncomfortable."

"I – I'm better when David's with me." Hallie looked at Quentin, her blue eyes reaching for a friendly connection. "I've never really had anyone in the world, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Quentin said sincerely.

"My parents died two years ago," Hallie said, looking down, "Ever since, it's been hard, you know? But David makes it better."

Quentin smiled supportively as David reentered the room. Quentin patted her hand and rose, giving his seat back to David. Looking around the room, he had no place else to go, so he quietly moved into the kitchen. Amanda was putting the last few touches on a tiny cake meant only for Jamison. Quentin wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, making her frost badly. "Quentin!" she protested, trying to correct her error.

"All right," he said, raising his hands so she could see them, "I just feel so weird out there. So many strangers that we're lying to – Amanda, I don't think I can take it."

"Call me Olivia," she hissed.

"You called me Quentin," he said lowly and provocatively as he slapped her behind.

"Oh, go back into the living room . . . _Grant_," she teased.

Quentin went back to the party, smiling wickedly. Maggie and Joe were now circling around Carolyn and Jamison. "Oh, he's such a cutie!" Maggie exclaimed, her long reddish-brown hair falling over him as she lent and kissed his forehead. She took her husband's hand, and said, "I can't wait until we have one."

Carolyn's brow furrowed, and she seemed like she was going to burst into tears. Abruptly, she picked up Jamison, and held him out to Quentin. "I – I have to go to the bathroom," Carolyn said, trying to smile, "He doesn't like strangers."

"He'll have to learn, won't he?" Quentin asked, trying to discern what was on Carolyn's mind. She rushed in the direction of the bathroom, her long blond hair trailing after her.

Maggie and Joe came up to their host, obviously entranced by Jamison. "Hello, Mr. Douglas," Joe said, extending his hand.

"Hello . . . Mr. Haskell, is it?" Quentin asked, shaking his hand.

"Yes," Joe said, smiling handsomely, "You have a beautiful baby, Mr. Douglas."

"Call me Grant," Quentin said, smiling back equally as handsome. He put Jamison down. Jamison stood by himself, could even walk by himself, but he wouldn't budge from his dad's side. "So you're friends of Carolyn's. How long have you two been married?"

"Oh, God," Maggie said, looking at Joe with a blank look, "We've been married since, what, 1968?" Joe nodded. "So we just celebrated our . . . third anniversary."

"Two more than Olivia and I have," Quentin said, and all three started laughing.

"How is it, being married to an actress?" Joe asked curiously.

"Oh, to an actress, it might be average," Quentin said, a dreamy look in his eye, "But to Olivia, it's amazing."

Maggie and Joe smiled, and moved on to another person. Quentin's eyes focused on Angelique. Julia had begun talking to David and Hallie, so now his opportunity was great to explain to Barnabas' wife what had actually transpired six months ago. He sat in a nearby seat with Jamison. "Hello, Angelique," Quentin said softly.

Angelique started, but did not look at him. "Quentin," she said stiffly, yet softly.

"Angelique, I need to explain -."

"Don't," Angelique said forcefully. Even though her big blue eyes weren't looking into his, he could feel the spark of fire in them. "Don't tell me how sorry you are for taking away my husband." She glanced up at him, and Quentin could almost feel her pain. "This isn't the place for it." Julia then turned around, glared at Quentin, and talked quietly to Angelique, who had turned her back on him.

Quentin looked around the living room: Maggie and Joe were talking to David; Hallie was sitting by herself, occasionally talking to Maggie; Julia and Angelique were speaking low, frequently glaring at Quentin; and Carolyn was conspicuously absent, probably crying in the bathroom. In this uncomfortable moment, Amanda cried, "Cake time!"

Everyone, including Carolyn (who had finally emerged from the bathroom), filed into the dining room, and circled around the highchair that Quentin put his son in. Amanda entered from the kitchen, and the whole crew started singing "Happy Birthday" again. Amanda sat the miniature yellow cake in front of her son. The fire of the candle mesmerized the child, and as Amanda said, "Make a wish," Jamison touched the flame. Then, all hell broke loose.

The child wailed so loudly that the neighbors probably wondered what the Douglases were doing to their child. Amanda immediately took Jamison in her arms, and ran to the bathroom to run the burn over cold water. Quentin was left watching over the crowd that was just dumbstruck by the event that had just occurred. "Well," Quentin said, clapping his hands together, "Who wants cake?"

The guests just stared at him, unbelieving, but Carolyn nodded. "I'll go get it."

She left quickly, but Hallie looked at Quentin, then back at Carolyn. "Wait, Carolyn, I'll come with you."

As the two girls left for the cake, Quentin was left standing uncomfortably in front of the rest of the guests, especially Julia and Angelique, who looked at him with deepest disdain. Amanda emerged from the bathroom. Jamison was calmer now, but his head was still buried in Amanda's shoulder, tears still running down his chubby cheeks. Amanda kissed his little hand. "All better," she said kindly, seating him back in his highchair. She handed him a fork, a utensil he had recently learned how to use, but Jamison refused to touch the cake. "Come on, sweetie, it won't hurt you," Amanda said.

Jamison grabbed his father's arm and buried his face in Quentin's coat sleeve. "Okay, buddy," Quentin said, "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to."

Quentin picked him up, got his cake (that Carolyn was cutting), and sat down in the living room away from the crowd. Amanda smiled weakly, and said, "You're already having cake?"

"Grant suggested it," Carolyn said as she dished cake to David and Hallie.

"Oh," Amanda said. Carolyn gave a paper plate with a piece of cake to Amanda. She smiled at the teenaged couple seated in front of her. "I hope this party wasn't too boring for you two."

"Oh, no, I got a lot of great pictures," David said eagerly.

"Are you planning on studying photography?" Amanda asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, Olivia, David's a great photographer," Maggie enthused, "I've known he's had a gift since he took pictures of our wedding." Maggie gave Joe's hand an extra squeeze.

"There's only one problem, though," David mused, "Who'll take a picture at our wedding?" David shot Hallie a look as she, unseen, kicked David in the shin.

Maggie laughed. "That's such a long time off; I don't think you need to worry about it now." She reached over and ruffled David's hair. "There'll be plenty of time to hire a photographer."

David and Hallie looked at each other, a worried and desperate look. Hallie stared at Carolyn, terrified. "You might as well tell them," Carolyn said wearily as she sat down with her own piece of cake.

"Tell us what?" Maggie asked eagerly.

Another nervous look passed between the young couple before David cleared his throat and mumbled something. "Sorry?" Joe asked.

"We – we're pregnant."

"What?!" Julia exclaimed.

Quentin jumped up from the living room, and (with Jamison) rushed into the dining room. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Darling," Amanda said through a false smile, "David and Hallie are pregnant."

"David Collins!" Maggie exclaimed angrily. "After all your father has – haven't you taken – David, what in the hell is wrong with you?"

"Please, Maggie, don't be angry," Hallie pleaded.

"You – shut your mouth, you little-."

"Okay, I think we need to settle down here," Amanda said, overwhelmed by the atmosphere around her son's first birthday.

Jamison started to cry again, and Quentin picked him up. "Ulp, wet again," Quentin said, silently telling Amanda with his eyes to take the baby up to the nursery.

As Amanda ascended the stairs, she heard Maggie's yells: "David, you're only seventeen years old! How could you be so stupid?"

Amanda changed Jamison in perfect silence for about three and a half minutes before someone knocked on the nursery door. "Come in," she said absently.

Hallie walked into the nursery. "Do you mind if I help?"

"No, not at all," Amanda lied.

Hallie walked over to the changing table, and fingered the baby powder. "How is it?" she whispered.

"How is what?"

"Taking care of a baby," she said, "I don't want to let it down. I want to be a good mother, but I don't know if I can." Hesitantly, she added, "I don't have a mother to advise me."

"I've heard that Mrs. Stoddard is a kind woman," Amanda said cautiously, "Or you can turn to Carolyn."

"Yeah," Hallie said absently as Amanda put on the new diaper, "I'm not much help, am I?"

Amanda finished diapering Jamison. "Listen, Hallie, there's no need to rush into things. If you want, when you're closer to having a kid, you can help out around here with Jamison. You won't have to worry about doing anything wrong, because I'll be here, too. Or Grant."

Hallie's face immediately brightened. "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Douglas!" Hallie's face froze, though, with terror as she noticed someone behind Amanda: a woman with long red hair in Victorian clothing. Hallie screamed, but when Amanda turned around, there was no one there. Amanda just stared curiously at Hallie, as the teenager looked down at her shoes.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen – Revenge

Amanda was lounging lazily on the sofa, while Quentin was building a fire. Jamison was asleep in his little crib – he would be so for quite a while. It was a Saturday in January, but it was also much more – it was Quentin and Amanda's second anniversary.

"Much better," Amanda said drowsily as the wood combusted in the fireplace.

"Mmmh," Quentin affirmed, placing Amanda's legs to the side so he, too, could sit down. Over the mantle, David's pictures remained on a corkboard, with the title, "Jamsey's First Birthday". There were countless pictures of both cakes, as well as a picture of a frowning Carolyn holding a frightened Jamison, and Jamison standing, supported by his father, looking in surprise and mistrust at this flashing contraption. David also took a few candid photos: Maggie and Joe kissing in a darkened corner of the hallway, Carolyn and Hallie cutting the cake, Quentin giving Amanda a wet Jamison, and Angelique looking down at the ground. Quentin was staring at that board – even though it was only three months ago, that party seemed to be a lifetime ago. "So Hallie decided to keep the baby?"

"Honey, I don't think she was seriously thinking about that operation," Amanda said lazily, "She wanted that baby. She was just nervous, that's all."

"Nervousness can turn to panic pretty easily," Quentin said, not really convinced.

"She's going to have the baby," Amanda said confidently.

"Of course, now that they're married," Quentin said. After a few moments, he laughed. "You don't know how much Roger reminds me of my brother."

"How so?" Amanda asked, drifting off to sleep.

"His expression as the ceremony commenced," Quentin said laughingly, "He was speechless with anger. Surely, you saw that."

"It was to be expected," Amanda said, matter-of-fact.

Quentin's brow furrowed in thought as he looked at Carolyn's picture. "Carolyn should really get help."

"Help with what?" Amanda said sleepily.

"She's been heart-broken ever since Jeb died," Quentin said, "You'd think she was attending a funeral last week, not a wedding."

"What tipped you off – the look on her face, or the black dress she wore?" Amanda said, sitting up. Both looked at each other, then laughed. "Quentin," she said as she wrapped her hands around his neck, "Let's not talk about David and Hallie's wedding; we're having our anniversary. Let's talk about us."

"What's there to talk about?" Quentin asked seemingly innocently, but the wicked smile gave his feelings away.

"Presents," Amanda joked.

Quentin laughed and rose. "Wait right here, I'll go get yours."

Quentin bounded upstairs, while Amanda snuck out to the garage, where she had hidden her present since two weeks before. She moved to the doorway, then ran back to the couch in time; Quentin was returning. He had one hand behind his back, and another out in front, containing one bright orange lily. Amanda snatched it instantly. "My favorite!" she exclaimed. She eyed his other hand with mocking suspicion. "Come on, give it over."

Quentin laughed, and held out his other hand. In it were two tickets. "Next Saturday, there's a Caravan concert. I know how much you like them, and I know you wanted to attend this particular concert, so I bought the tickets a month ago before they were sold out. Happy Anniversary," he said, pecking her cheek and handing her the tickets.

Amanda looked down at the tickets, biting her lip. "Why do you have to be so perfect?" she asked.

Quentin remembered that line from last year. "What, did you buy me another barometer?" he teased.

"That's not funny," she said, standing up.

Quentin waited for her to say something – anything – but she had fallen silent. "Well? Where's my present?" Quentin said excitedly.

"By the door," Amanda said gloomily, still looking at her Caravan tickets.

Quentin left, found the present, and from the doorway said, in a very confused voice, "A refrigerator?"

"Yes," Amanda said, waiting for Quentin to yell and scream about not getting a proper present. Instantly, she felt she had to explain. "You always said how you're tired of fixing our old refrigerator, and I thought I'd buy a new one to make it easier on you." Quentin returned from the doorway, smiling mischievously. "You're not angry?" Amanda asked worriedly.

"Of course not!" Quentin said, picking her up and twirling her around. "I'm not the only perfect person in this room." He set her down on her feet, took her presents out of her hands and set them on the table, and started kissing her. With each kiss, they came closer and closer to the couch, until he laid her down and asked, "You're not scared?"

"No," she whispered.

They started kissing again more passionately for a few minutes, until suddenly a hand came out of nowhere and pulled Quentin off of her. "Quentin," a voice hissed in his ear.

Quentin turned around, and saw Barnabas' face inches from his. "Barnabas! How did you escape?" Quentin asked nervously.

Barnabas' lips curled into a menacing smile. "The question is, how are you going to live?"

"Barnabas, it wasn't his fault!" Amanda cried from the couch. Already, she was sobbing. "Petofi said he was going to take Jamison away! He couldn't help it! He had to trick you!"

"Bringing me to Petofi was commendable, but you would have warned me _if _you were my friend. _If_."

"I am your friend," Quentin said, hurt.

"A friend of mine would never betray me!" Barnabas growled. "I should slit your throat like the conniving animal you are."

"No!" Quentin yelled in horror. "Barnabas, I have a wife and kid to take care of! Think of them!"

Barnabas paused and thought a moment. He let Quentin fall to his feet, and said, "Never speak to me again. You and I are no longer friends – we are mortal enemies." Barnabas started walking to the door, but then stopped and looked back at Quentin with a grimace. "I should have known I could never trust you." With that said, Barnabas swung open the door, letting it slam behind him.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen – Night Out

The blue sedan parked out in front of the Blue Whale, an old haunt of Quentin's. Quentin looked at his happy wife and wrapped his arm around her. They hadn't had a night out in ages, and now that Hallie was looking after Jamison, they could enjoy a date.

Quentin jumped out of the car, came round to her door, and opened it for her. "You may exit now, my lady," he said jokingly.

Giggling, Amanda complied and stepped out of the car. Quentin extended his arm, and Amanda assumed a mockingly posh personality. She raised her chin proudly, looped her arm around his, and said in a fake British accent, "Thank you, sir." Laughing, they entered the building.

Quentin hadn't seen the place in years, and it certainly had changed. The waitresses were all dressed in low-cut frilly white blouses and blue miniskirts. He also thought he detected blue fishnet stockings and white platform shoes. Amanda saw him looking at the waitresses so intently, and asked, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," he said, not tearing his eyes away.

"It looks like you're looking at those girls," she said, her lips pressed.

"Oh," he said, reluctantly looking into Amanda's miffed eyes. "It's just changed a lot, that's all."

"I see," Amanda smirked.

"Why don't we find a table?" he asked apprehensively. He motioned for one of the scantily-clad girls to move toward them. One girl, with short blond curls and blue eyes, moved over to them. He squinted at her name tag. "Kathryn, we'd like a table for two."

"This way, sir," she said in a blunt voice. She led them to a small table in a dark corner of the room. She handed them the menu. "Dinner is still being served, but not for long. What would you like to drink?"

"Wine," Amanda said.

"Brandy," said Quentin.

The girl nodded, writing their drinks on a worn black notepad, then walked off. Amanda smoothed the blue checkered tablecloth, and said, "It's nice to be out for a change."

"Yes," Quentin said, grabbing one of her delicate hands in both of his. He stared deeply into her dark eyes. "How lovely you look by candlelight."

Amanda blushed. "Thanks. Um, you look very well, too."

Quentin laughed silently and kissed her hand. Kathryn came back and interrupted them, putting their drinks unceremoniously on the table. "What'll you have?"

"Oh!" Amanda exclaimed, diving for the menu. "I'll have the calamari and fries."

Again, the girl nodded, saying, "All right. And for you, sir?"

"Mmmm, I'll have the chili and the Sicilian chicken breast, please."

The girl walked away, still writing their orders. Amanda raised her eyebrows at Quentin. "Their specialty is seafood."

"I know, but we have enough seafood at home," Quentin said, grabbing her hand again. "Now, where were we?"

"Talking," Amanda said, matter-of-fact.

"Ah, yes," Quentin said smilingly, "My favorite subject."

"I wonder how Jamison's doing?" Amanda asked suddenly.

"Now, now," Quentin said, patting her hand, "Hallie's been looking after him for a month now, nothing's gone wrong yet. He'll be fine. Tonight's our night." He looked even deeper into her eyes. "I declare, Mrs. Douglas, you're the most beautiful woman in the world." He let go of her hand and leaned back in his chair, smiling crookedly. "Now it's your turn."

Amanda's expression was still one of worry. "Did we give Hallie the emergency numbers?" Amanda asked, suddenly frantic.

Quentin looked around them. "Olivia," he said sternly, calling her by her fake name since they were in public, "Stop worrying about Jamison. He'll be fine. I gave Hallie the numbers before we left. She knows where we are and who to call." He smiled again. "As I recall, you were about to compliment me."

Amanda looked as if she were about to explode. "Grant Douglas, you are the most infuriating man I have ever met!"

Quentin raised his eyebrows in surprise, although he was still smiling. "That's some compliment - since you know so many men."

Immediately, Quentin knew he said the wrong thing. Her eyes were like fire pits staring at him as she got up from the table and went to the pay phone on the wall to call home. While she was calling Hallie, Kathryn brought the food. Quentin was halfway through his bowl of chili when Amanda returned, scoffed at Quentin, and started eating her food. "Well?" Quentin asked. "What went wrong this time?"

"Nothing," she said stiffly as she forked a bite of calamari into her mouth.

Quentin smirked and returned to his bowl of chili. They ate in silence for a while, not really saying more than "Pass me the salt". Finally, he said, "After dinner, I guess we'll just go home".

Amanda glared at him. "What's wrong with home?"

"Nothing, nothing – except we're never alone. We always have a baby to take care of."

"If you prefer, we'll get rid of Jamison, then," Amanda said sarcastically, tears stinging her eyes.

Quentin sighed, exasperated. "Olivia, it's just that we never get to be alone anymore. Hallie's taking care of him." He started to caress her arm. "We can trust her to take care of him so that we can have tonight alone."

He could tell that her eyes were softening, but her desire to be angry persisted. "But we're not alone – we're with each other."

"Yes – alone," Quentin said, incredulous. She glanced back at him and finished her fries. "Listen, Olivia, you can hang on to this grudge if you want, but you can do that completely alone."

He threw down his napkin and started to rise, but Amanda grabbed his arm hastily. "Grant, please – I'm sorry. We've never been away from Jamison before."

"Exactly," Quentin said, sitting down again, "That's why we have to enjoy tonight. For the moment, no one exists except you and me." He smiled and kissed her cheek. "Better?"

"Mm-hmm," she said smilingly, "Where are we going after this?"

"Well, we could stay here, have a few more drinks, and then go home around nine," Quentin said.

"Why nine?" Amanda asked curiously.

"Jamison will be asleep by then," Quentin said wickedly. Amanda laughed, lifted her drink as in toast, and sipped – she couldn't have a care in the world when Quentin was ever so charming.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen – Eating Cake at a Hospital

Amanda still couldn't believe it – she was celebrating her two-year-old's birthday in a hospital.

Hallie had just had her baby, a girl which she quickly named Victoria. That was her mother's name, and also the name of David's former governess and companion, so they both thought the name would be appropriate. Hallie was holding the beautiful baby in her arms, its green eyes staring up at her mother. "She doesn't look anything like us," Hallie whispered to David.

"I know," he said solemnly, "She looks like Aunt Elizabeth."

Quentin and Amanda were sitting at the far end of the bed, with Jamison sitting on Amanda's lap. Everyone in the room was wearing paper hats and talking amongst themselves. Amanda felt as though she had her smile plastered on, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn't transmit any other expression. Sure, Carolyn had told them it was fine to come to the hospital and bring cake, but Amanda couldn't help but feel like an intruder in a special family moment.

Elizabeth and Roger were sitting near to David and Hallie, trying to see the baby at every turn and make it smile. Carolyn and her date, a prominent psychiatrist, were sitting with Quentin and Amanda and making small talk, all the while trying to listen in on the baby talk at the other side of the room. "Grant, I don't like this," she whispered once Carolyn's attention was once again diverted by some riveting talk about little Victoria.

"Just relax, Olivia," Quentin said quietly, "Jamison can't compete with a new baby, but their attention will turn once cake's served."

"Can't you ever be serious?" Amanda said, trying to be exasperated but failing.

Quentin gave her a crooked smile and kissed her quickly. "Here, here, now, you two," Roger said, mockingly upset, "Take that mushy rubbish to the halls. There's a child present."

"Correction, Roger," Elizabeth said giddily, "There's two children present, and I'm afraid we've neglected Jamison terribly. Please forgive us."

"Everything's forgiven," Quentin said smilingly, "We understand."

"I'm so happy that Victoria was born so close to Jamison's birth date," Hallie said happily, "We can have our children's birthdays together."

"That's a wonderful idea! Isn't it, Olivia?" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Yes," Amanda said, her fake smile appearing again. It was not like she was so selfish as to want all the attention to fall on Jamison, but two birthdays – she hoped Hallie would help out a little.

Quentin grabbed Amanda's hand and squeezed it briefly. "It'll be all right," he said soothingly.

Amanda smiled lovingly up at him. Just then, Jamison wriggled on her lap. "Mama! Me hungwy."

"In a while, sweetheart," Amanda said calmly, brushing his black hair out of his eyes.

Jamison pouted. "Me hungwy!" he demanded.

Quentin smiled awkwardly at the staring public. "The terrible twos are starting early," he said apologetically.

"Oh, yes, I remember when Carolyn was that age," Elizabeth said dreamily, ignoring her daughter's frantic pleas for her to stop, "Everything had to go her way. Since I was a single mother, I catered to her every whim. It's probably why she hasn't grown out of it," she finished with a devilish twinkle in her eye. Carolyn winced and clapped her hand to her head while the psychiatrist chuckled slightly.

"And don't forget David," Roger said gruffly, "He was worse than most. Thank God Vicky came and straightened you out." He gave a curious glance at Hallie and the baby. "Though I daresay you missed some of her lessons."

David awkwardly stared at the ground. "I brought my camera, just in case you wanted another board like last year," he said to Quentin.

"Sure, David," Quentin said, "Nothing I'd like better."

David grabbed a black pouch and recovered the camera enthusiastically. He pointed it at Carolyn, who was still dying of embarrassment. Her date noticed the camera and leaned in. "Smile!" David shouted, taking the picture.

Carolyn scowled up at her cousin. "David Collins, you are the most inconsiderable boy!"

"Sorry, Carolyn," David shrugged happily. Even though he loved his cousin, he couldn't resist tormenting her, which was very easy to do. He moved on to the birthday boy, still pouting over the lack of compliance from his parents. He clicked another random picture, and so he went throughout the day.

* * *

The cake was eventually served, and Quentin and Amanda left soon thereafter to give the happy new parents some privacy. Amanda set the now-sleeping Jamison down in his crib. Quentin entered, and Amanda said, "Shhh. He's sleeping."

"Too much cake," Quentin diagnosed.

Amanda giggled. "Maybe." She sighed and looked at the sleeping birthday boy. "I just don't know how to say no to him."

"I noticed," Quentin said.

Amanda shot him a look. "You didn't do anything, either."

Quentin puts his hands on her shoulders. "Let's not fight in here."

Amanda pouted, looked at Jamison, then nodded. They walked into the hall, and she shut the door behind her. He surprised her by planting a huge kiss on her mouth. She struggled and finally broke free. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Thought you deserved it," he shrugged, smiling boyishly.

Amanda smirked, and on tippy-toe kissed Quentin back. "You deserve one, too." Quentin pressed Amanda against the wall, but she pushed him away gently. "Not here."

"Why not?" Quentin laughed.

"Not in front of Jamison's room," she said sternly.

Quentin looked at her, amused. He grinned and held out his arm. "Very well, my lady. Do lead on." Amanda took his arm and led him into the bedroom.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen – Warped Hole

"Are you ready yet?" Quentin yelled from downstairs.

Amanda zipped up her red, green, and white dress. "Coming, honey."

Amanda bounded downstairs and found Quentin and Jamison waiting impatiently below. Jamison had a green sweater with little Christmas trees on it, and Quentin wore a conservative suit with a green and red striped tie. They were all ready for the big Christmas party at Collinwood. "Hurry, honey, or we're gonna be late," Quentin said impatiently.

"Just let me get my coat," Amanda smiled as she covered her dress with a knee-length overcoat. "Come on, you two," she said, holding her hand out for Jamison, who eagerly grabbed it.

The three walked to the car. When Amanda opened the car door for Jamison, he looked at his little car seat and frowned. "Not caw seat," he said stubbornly.

"Darling, you have to. It's the law," Amanda said soothingly.

"Me want wide. With Mama," Jamison pouted.

"Sweetie, you can't," Amanda said, unable to find the words to explain why. "It's dangerous for you. Mama wants to have you with her always, so please, honey, climb in the car seat."

Jamison glared at his mother before reluctantly climbing into the car. Amanda buckled him in and tried to make him laugh, but at times he could be just as stubborn as his father. Quentin opened his door. "Are we all ready?"

"Yes," Amanda said gloomily. She kissed Jamison on the cheek and climbed into her own seat. Quentin pulled out of the driveway – they were only minutes away from Party Avenue.

* * *

A frantic Mrs. Johnson opened the door for the Douglas family. "Oh! Mr. and Mrs. Douglas, come in," she said in an overworked voice.

"Thank you," Quentin said kindly.

Mrs. Johnson took their coats, and practically pushed them into the Drawing Room, where all the guests were. They were immediately greeted by Roger. "Come in, come in, the festivities are only beginning," he slurred.

They walked over to the punchbowl, where Quentin told Amanda quietly, "Looks like Roger's celebrating early."

Jamison tugged on his mother's sleeve. "Mama! Mama! Baby."

Amanda looked over in the direction Jamison was pointing. "Yes, that's Victoria, Hallie's daughter. You want to visit her?"

Jamison nodded and pulled his mother in the general direction. Quentin followed, amused. Jamison went straight to Hallie and leaned on her knees to get a clearer view of the baby. "Well, hello!" Hallie exclaimed. "You want to see Victoria?"

Jamison nodded eagerly, and Hallie faced the baby around so he could get a full view of her daughter. Jamison touched the silky black hair on Victoria's head, and said, "Pwetty baby."

Amanda giggled. "If he's too much trouble, Hallie-."

"No, let him stay," Hallie said eagerly, "I love children. It's no bother."

"All right," Amanda smiled, "Just tell us when you get tired of him."

Hallie nodded, and returned to the two children. Quentin put his arm around his wife's shoulders, and said, "It won't be so bad, the two of us alone."

"I suppose," Amanda sighed, "And I can always keep an eye on him."

"Of course," Quentin smiled.

They returned to the punchbowl and saw a very familiar face. He turned around and broke into a big smile. "Grant! Olivia! How are you?"

"Fine, Chris," Amanda said, "How's life working for the Collinses?"

"F-Fine," he stuttered. He looked around the room. "I think my wife needs me."

"You got married?" Amanda exclaimed excitedly.

"Yes," he said, a smile growing on his lips, "To a wonderful girl. Her name is Sabrina."

"How wonderful," Amanda said.

When Chris paused and acknowledged Amanda's affirmation, Quentin said, "Well, don't keep her waiting."

Chris nodded and walked to Sabrina. Amanda glared at Quentin, her hands on her hip. "You didn't have to be rude."

"I didn't like the way he was looking at you," Quentin said, squinting in Chris' direction, "He reminds me too much of Timothy Shaw."

Amanda swatted him on the shoulder, laughing. "One hundred years later, and you're still jealous over an affair that almost happened – but didn't."

"What didn't happen?" Quentin asked, miffed, "I remember how you used to kiss him. Don't tell me that didn't happen."

"Don't, Quentin," Amanda said softly, wrapping her arms around his waist, "That was the past. This is now, and in the here and now, I love _you_, not Tim Shaw." She pecked his lips.

Quentin smiled down at his wife. "Do you want some punch?"

Before Amanda could answer, Hallie was running up to them, her baby crying in her arms, and holding Jamison by the hand. "Amanda, Vicky needs a change. Do you mind?" Hallie asked nicely.

"Sure, Hallie," Amanda said, perplexed as she held onto Jamison's hands while Hallie ran upstairs to her and David's room.

The commotion died down, and Quentin put his hands on her shoulders, and leaned in toward her ears. "Want to reminisce with me?"

Amanda turned around. "Quentin, we can't do that!" she whispered. "This isn't our house! We can't go running from room to room!"

"We don't have to go from room to room," Quentin said, a devilish look in his eye, "I just want to visit one room."

"Your room," Amanda guessed.

"Wouldn't take you anyplace else," Quentin grinned.

Amanda looked around and smiled excitedly. "Let's go."

* * *

They picked the lock to the West Wing, and Quentin led them directly to his old room. Half of it had been converted into a storage room, but the other half was still intact, filled with cobwebs and dust so thick that Amanda was near to gagging. Quentin's eyes brightened with delight. "My old gramophone!"

"We have one at home," Amanda sulked. She thought this would be much more fun.

"Hey, I wonder if it still plays."

"Quentin, don't!" Amanda said worriedly. "Someone might hear us."

Quentin looked longingly at the gramophone, but turned away from it. He grinned crookedly as he came nearer to Amanda. "I bet you can guess what I used this room for."

"Quentin, not now!" Amanda hissed, pointing at Jamison, who was eating the condensed dust off a table. Amanda grabbed his hand, and said, "No, Jamison. Dust isn't good for you."

Jamison wailed, and as Amanda was trying to shush him, a bright light appeared in front of the fireplace. Amanda squinted, and said, "What's that?"

"I don't know," Quentin said, walking towards it.

"Quentin, don't!" Amanda said, grabbing onto his shirt. "I'm frightened."

"I just want to touch it, that's all," he said, and before she could stop him, he put his hand into the light. His whole hand seemed to disappear. When he stuck his head in to see where his hand had gone, his head disappeared, too, and his whole body was sucked into the light.

"Quentin!" Amanda screamed. She picked up Jamison, and followed him, wherever he might have gone.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty – Strangers

Amanda felt strange as she entered the pool of light, as if the life was being drained out of her, while the world around her was spinning constantly. She tried to call out for Quentin, but she found she really could not move. Her eyes closed despite her prominent reluctance, and as the world spun around, she thought she heard a voice calling her. It was Quentin's voice! "Amanda . . . Amanda . . ."

Her eyes snapped open. She found herself lying on the ground beneath many trees. They were in a forest – the Collins estate! But there were no paths, no houses . . . "Where are we?" she mumbled.

"I don't know," Quentin said warily. He picked up Jamison, who was still unconscious. "I think we should walk back to town."

Amanda nodded, and stood up. She was still shaky from the experience, but she knew she could walk. Quentin hoisted Jamison up on his shoulder, and they started to walk. A road hadn't even been paved, so they walked on pure forest. Quentin wondered what dimension they had been thrust into – he knew that he shouldn't have entered the light, but it was so attractive; he felt a great compulsion to enter it.

They finally reached the village, but it was so much smaller. There were no real roads, unless you count the dirt ones, and there seemed to be no cars or businesses. They walked up to the nearest cabin and knocked on the door. A handsome man of thirty-two opened the door, and Amanda immediately recognized him. "Chris!" she exclaimed. "Chris, we thought we were lost. We don't know how we got here, but we just need directions home."

The man looked her up and down. "I do not know who you are," the man said in a very proper English accent, "But I do not think I wish to know."

Amanda's face fell with disappointment. Quentin sighed, and said, "Look, we won't bother you long. All we want to do is use the phone."

"Phone?" the man said, genuinely puzzled, "What, my dear sir, is a phone?" Quentin and Amanda looked at each other in shock. "Listen, dear lady and sir, may I ask what it is you are doing here?"

"We don't know!" Amanda cried, very close to hysterics, "We just woke up here! I don't know what happened!"

"Nor you, sir?" the man asked, interested.

"No," Quentin lied.

"Elissa!" the man yelled. "My wife shall be here in a moment. She shall take care of you."

The man retreated, and a dark-skinned, dark-haired beauty came to the door. The pink dress she wore brought out her femininity and the rosiness her dark cheeks concealed. "May I help you?" she asked in a Native American accent.

Quentin took one look at her dress and surmised the situation. "Yes. We were at a costume ball, and need some clothes to change into."

Amanda looked at him questioningly, but Quentin's eyes said, "I'll explain it to you later."

"Follow me," Elissa said, bowing her head, and signaling for them to follow. She led them to a room in the modest cabin. "In there, you shall find clothes for the lady, the child, and the gentleman."

Quentin, Amanda, and Jamison entered the room, and found three trunks of clothes. Amanda immediately started searching one trunk, which had nothing but women's dresses. She found a modest beige dress, picked it up, and said, "What do you think?"

"Too beige," Quentin said.

Amanda dropped the dress. "Quentin, where are we? What's happened?"

"Haven't you noticed?" Quentin smiled sadly. "We're sometime in the seventeenth century."

Amanda's face registered surprise. "How?"

"That light must have been a time warp," Quentin said calmly.

"I see," Amanda said incredulously. She picked up the dress again. "I'm wearing it."

"Go ahead. I'm not stopping you," Quentin said, looking through another trunk – a children's trunk. In it, he found a whitish outfit for a two-year-old boy that resembled a dress. "Can you believe children used to wear this?"

"Put it on him," Amanda said as she fastened the hooks in back of her dress.

Quentin shed Jamison of his twentieth-century clothing, and replaced it with the gown-type seventeenth century garb. Afterwards, he looked for something suitable for himself. In the men's trunk, he found some sort of red tunic and what appeared to be tights – also, a hat. He, too, dressed in the odd clothing of the century. He straightened and faced Amanda. "How do I look?" he laughed.

"I think I like our old clothing better," she said.

"Well," Quentin said, spreading his arms wide, "I think it's time to face the seventeenth century world."

"Much better," said Elissa's husband, smiling approvingly, "My wife says you were at a ball. A rather queer one, by the way you all were dressed."

"Yes," said Quentin, coughing uncomfortably.

"May I ask your surnames?"

"My name is Fredrick Thorn, and this is my wife, Prunella, and my son, Jamison." They had gone over the story in the clothing room, and decided to change everyone's name except Jamison's since he was too little to comprehend.

"How do you do, Mr. Thorn," the man said, extending his hand, "My name is Xzavier Evans. You have already met my wife, Elissa."

"Yes, a lovely woman," Amanda interjected.

"Mr. Evans, may I request something?" Quentin asked hesitantly.

"Of course, Mr. Thorn," Xzavier said, listening intently.

"Since my wife and I have no recollection as to our coming here, may we stay a few days – even one night – and get our bearings?"

"Your bearings?" Xzavier said, clearly confused.

"Yes – recall how we came here," Quentin explained.

"Of course," Xzavier said, finally understanding, "Elissa! Prepare our guest room! The Thorn family is going to stay!"


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One – New Acquaintances

Quentin and Amanda only imposed on Xzavier's hospitality for three days. They soon found out that the Shaw clan had a room to let.

On their third day in 1651 (they had found out the year by slyly asking their hosts how long they've been in Pomegranate Harbor, and when they'd moved), they went up to the Shaw cabin and knocked, nervous for their approval.

A young girl, maybe eighteen, answered the door. She had shoulder-length, unruly blond hair, and hazel eyes. "Hello?" she said timidly.

"May we speak to the man of the house, please?" Quentin smiled.

The girl nodded and ran into the house, and a broad-shouldered, brunette man took her place. "'Ello?" he said in a cockney-ish accent.

"We heard that you had rooms to let," Quentin said, smiling nervously.

"Ay, we do, sir," he said, his face splitting into a grin, "Would you an' the lady be needin' of those rooms, sir?"

"Yes, for a little while at least," Quentin nodded.

"An' whose this?" he asked in a babyish voice as he peered down at Jamison, who was asleep on his mother's shoulder.

"Jamison Thorn," Amanda said softly, rubbing her child's back affectionately.

"Ay, I remember when they were that little," the man smiled, "I have one of me own. The girl – Honora. Me pride an' joy."

Amanda smiled up at the man. He might seem imposing, but his spirit was kind. "You and your wife must be very proud," she said.

"Ay, we are," he said, his chest bursting with pride. He clapped Quentin on the shoulder, and asked, "What's ye handle?"

"My name is Fredrick Thorn. This is my wife, Prunella – Jamison, you've already met."

"How d'ye do, me name's Royale Shaw, and somewhere lurks me wife, Deirdre. DEIRDRE!" he yelled, causing alarm between Quentin and Amanda. "COMPANY!"

A slight, blond woman with violet eyes scuttled forth rapidly. She much resembled Carolyn, but was so prim, proper, and silent that they could not believe that they could be one and the same. "Yes, husband?" she asked in a whispery child's voice.

"Take them to their room – they're going ta let," Royale said, once again clapping Quentin on his shoulder.

* * *

Quentin and Amanda looked around the room: bare, but still very pleasant. "How long are ye fixin' to stay?" Deirdre asked in an accent as thick as her husband's.

"We'll leave as soon as our cabin is built," Quentin said, looking around the walls. Amanda stared incredulously at her husband – they had never discussed this! Quentin returned her gaze, and said, "Prunella, darling, stay here – I'll get our luggage from the Evans cabin."

Amanda nodded, and Quentin pecked her on her cheek as he left. Deirdre looked at her, then at the door that shut behind Quentin. "D'ye always do that?"

"Do what?" Amanda asked absently as she put Jamison on her other shoulder.

"Let 'im kiss ye in public," Deirdre whispered, as if it were some terrible secret.

Amanda laughed. "We're married, I assure you."

"I know, but . . ." Deirdre leaned in closer. "It tain't proper for a girl to let a man treat 'er that way."

Amanda sighed. She'd have to get used to this kind of life – how, she didn't know.

* * *

Quentin said his goodbyes and thank-yous to the Evans family, and returned to the Shaw home. He went to their bedroom/living room, and knocked on the door. "Yes?" he heard his wife say.

"It's Fredrick, darling, please open the door."

Amanda opened the door, and grabbed luggage filled with clothes. "How on earth did you find all these clothes, Fredrick?"

"Xzavier and his family gave them to us – they knew we had nothing."

"How kind," Amanda said thoughtfully as she put aside the garments. Behind the door, she noticed a crib. "They gave us that, too?"

"Yes," Quentin said, lugging the heavy crib into their room, "Since they have no children of their own, they said we could lend it – we have to give it back, though, if Elissa is 'with child'."

Amanda nodded in amazement, and helped Quentin put it in a corner of the room. Jamison, who was walking around the house in wonder, said, "Mama! Me want home."

Amanda kneeled next to her child, and said, "Jamison, honey, we can't go home." Her lip trembled as she tried to hold back tears. "We're lost."

Jamison, too, started to weep – mostly because he felt sad for his mother. Amanda picked him up and held on to him tightly. Someday, when he's older, perhaps he'll understand. Quentin, although sympathetic, rolled his eyes at his too-emotional wife and child. "Come on, crying won't get us anywhere," he said, joining in on this family hug, "We just have to make the most of it. Tomorrow I'll search for a place to build the cabin. We all can help – it'll be like a family project."

"You don't know how to build a cabin," Amanda pointed out as she wiped away her tears.

"So I'll ask Royale how he built his house," Quentin said soothingly, "We'll be all right."

"How are we going to get the money to pay these people?" Amanda whispered so no one could hear.

"I'll look for a job, too," Quentin said in an equally low voice. He kissed Amanda on the top of her head, which caused her to giggle. "What?" Quentin asked with a confused smile.

"Oh, Deirdre told me that I shouldn't let my husband kiss me in public," Amanda giggled.

"Hey, that's right, I forgot," Quentin said in a serious voice, "This isn't 1972 anymore. Public affection isn't allowed."

Amanda sighed. "It's all so different."

"But we'll adjust," Quentin said, kissing her softly on her lips. As long as Quentin's here, Amanda thought, everything will be all right.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two – A Home of Their Own

The Thorn family finally built their cabin. Quentin acknowledged that perhaps he should have waited until spring-time, but winter seemed to mock them, and their little room was getting a bit claustrophobic.

Quentin finally gained a job, and because he was his own boss, they were able to keep all the profits. He opened a gunsmith store in the village, since he noticed that one was sorely lacking. Amanda had to admit that Quentin certainly knew all about guns, and if anyone should fix or build them, he would be the one. What irked her was Royale's persistence of asking Jamison if he was going to follow in his father's footsteps. The child was two – he hardly knew what a gun was, let alone if he was going to repair them for a living.

Quentin paid for their room, worked, and built the cabin (with the help of Amanda and little Jamison, of course). Soon, the house was ready, and they were saying tearful goodbyes to the Shaw family. Amanda had made a dear friend in Deirdre, and Quentin and Royale had become very close.

Quentin unhitched his horse (they now owned a horse), and brought all of their belongings with him to the cabin. Soon thereafter, he returned for his family. Amanda and Jamison sat behind him as he drove only a couple of minutes away to their new abode.

* * *

Two weeks later, the foreign family was well settled in their house. Amanda was putting away the last of the kitchen apparel when Quentin walked through the door. He walked up to her stealthily and quietly and put his hands over her eyes. She screamed, but stopped panicking once she heard Quentin's laugh. "Oh, you!" she irritably as she cast his hands off her.

"What, where's your sense of humor?" he asked, trying to stifle his laugh. He turned her around. "Hey, you know what day this is?"

Amanda nodded. "Our anniversary," she smiled.

"Hey, we finally caught up to Joe and Maggie," he laughed.

Amanda creased her brow and shook her head. "They were married two years before us."

"Yeah, but this is 1652. They haven't been married yet!" Now both laughing, Quentin drew Amanda to his lips and kissed her brow, then her nose, making his way down to her mouth. There they stood for a while, kissing in harmony, but then Quentin broke away. "I have a present for you," he said in a sing-song voice.

"What is it?" Amanda asked excitedly.

"Wait here." Quentin rushed to their bedroom – it was all so new. They had been used to stairs, but on his budget, Quentin could only afford to build a one story house. He returned quickly with a gift hidden well behind him. He smiled big, and said, "Guess what it is."

Amanda paused for a moment, then said, "I don't know. What is it?"

He revealed the anniversary gift, and she gasped, saying, "A pewter sugar bowl!" She stared into his trusty blue eyes, and said, "Quentin Collins, you're amazing!" She quickly kissed him on the cheek, and went to put the sugar bowl in its proper place on the dining room table.

Quentin followed her in anticipation. "Well? What did you get me?"

Amanda blushed and looked at him. "Something completely useless, as usual."

"Well, what is it?" he asked excitedly.

She put her hand in her pocket, and handed him a small box with a note attached. The note read:

_Quentin (or should I say Frederick?): You've been so good to me these past three years. I can scarcely believe sometimes that I was lucky enough to find a man as good as you are. You're so incredible – sometimes I think I'm dreaming when I realize how much you love Jamison and me. I love you so much, Quentin – I don't really think I can put it in words, so I've bought a gift that you can keep with you always. Think of me when you look at it, for I am always thinking of you._

_Amanda_

Quentin opened the box, and found a turquoise ring. He stared at Amanda, then back at the present. Amanda laughed. "Don't just stand there. Read the inscription!"

"There's an inscription?" Quentin said, rushing to the nearest candle. "I can hardly make it out."

Amanda sighed. "It says, 'To Frederick on our third anniversary. Love Prunella'."

"You used our fake names?" Quentin asked, still squinting and trying to read.

"I had to. I went into town to the jeweler's," she explained.

Quentin stopped looking at his gift, slipped it on his finger, and kissed Amanda. "I love it." He stroked her dark brown hair. "I love you."

Amanda wrapped her arms around Quentin's neck, and they kissed passionately for the longest time before they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Amanda stared at Quentin in disbelief. "Who could that be?"

"Open the door and see," Quentin said, gazing back down at his gift.

Amanda walked over to the door, and opened it to find a couple: a tall woman with red hair and green eyes, who had a very sinister air about her, and a tall man with gray hair and hazel eyes, who seemed kindly. "Good afternoon, my dear lady," the man began, "I do hope we did not come at a bad time. We are the people who live across the road from you, and we wished to come and welcome you to Pomegranate Harbor."

Amanda, still bewildered, said, "Thank you, Mr. . . ."

"Ah, forgive me," the man said, holding up his hand, "I am the Reverend Palmer, and this is my wife, Edna."

"How do you do," Edna said in a blunt yet wistful voice.

"How do you do, I am Prunella Thorn," Amanda said nervously. "My husband will be out here shortly."

Once again, the reverend raised his hand. "No need, my lady. We simply passed by to extend our fondest wishes for your happiness."

"Thank you," Amanda said, her brow furrowed in confusion.

With that said, the reverend and his wife walked on to the village, leaving Amanda standing quite confused in the doorway. Quentin soon joined her, and said, "Prunella . . . who were they?"

"Our neighbors," she said strangely.

Quentin stared after them for a minute, then said, "Come on inside. We still have celebrating to do."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three – Adjusting

Amanda sat in Jamison's new nursery, looking out the window. The past month she had watched as the temperature rose, and the snow turned to slush on their lawn. With every fluctuation in the weather, Amanda wondered even more if they would ever return to their own time.

The wooden door opened – Quentin had returned from work. He saw his wife completely engrossed by the view, so he smiled, and lifted up his two-year-old son. "Put him down, Quentin; he's napping," Amanda said, not even bothering to turn around to face her husband.

Quentin smirked sadly, and returned his son to his crib. He walked over to Amanda, and put his hands on her shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked resignedly.

Amanda sighed. "Quentin, I miss 1972. Everything is so constricted: women can't work, men own everything, we're ruled by the British . . . Quentin, how on Earth are we going to return?" She leaned her head on Quentin's abdomen. "Don't you miss everyone? Carolyn . . . David and Hallie . . . Elizabeth . . . Roger . . . Chris . . ."

"Chris, I don't miss," Quentin said.

Amanda frowned and turned around. "Why not?" Quentin simply shook his head and continued to stare out the window. "Quentin, how long are we going to wait?"

"Amanda, we can't just go back. It isn't that simple." Quentin returned his wife's gaze. "We have to wait."

"For what?!" Amanda exploded. "Quentin, you haven't told me anything! I need to know what we're waiting for!"

"For the warp to come back," Quentin said quietly, staring out into space, seemingly in his own world.

"Well, how long is that going to take?" Amanda said impatiently.

"I don't know," Quentin admitted, "The warp seems unpredictable."

"Quentin, we've already seen December turn to January and then February," Amanda vented, "I hope it comes soon."

"Hey, so do I," Quentin said with a reassuring smile. After a moment of silence, Quentin got a devilish idea. "Hey, Amanda," he whispered mischievously, "We still have that complementary bottle of cordial Mrs. Palmer gave us last week."

Amanda looked at him with the same devilish twinkle in her dark eyes. "Let's go."

* * *

Quentin dusted off the bottle – the dirt was so thick here. He couldn't wait for the roads to be paved – not that he was going to be around to see it, he thought nervously. He put up a courageous front for Amanda, but it was hard to be optimistic when he was alone. Amanda soon came up behind him with two wine glasses. "Fill 'er up, darling," she giggled.

"Hey, now, you shouldn't be talkin' all that modern tongue around here; the natives might not like it," Quentin joked as he filled his wife's glass with the crimson liquid.

"Oh, Mr. Thorn, do go on," Amanda mocked in a false Southern accent. Quentin laughed and filled his glass, too. Amanda lifted hers up, and Quentin, albeit curious, raised his up, too. "To the Thorn family – may their stay be pleasant and short."

"Amen," Quentin said as they clinked glasses. Amanda threw hers back instantly, shaking her head as the aftertaste overcame her. Quentin laughed silently at his wife's behavior, then did the same.

* * *

Hours later, the couple was lying on the floor. Amanda was draining the last of her fifth glass of wine, and Quentin was drunkenly swilling the bottle around. "All gone," Quentin slurred. Amanda giggled almost hysterically. Quentin stared at his wife, and said, "What's so funny?"

Amanda tried to stop, but she couldn't catch her breath as tears rolled down her cheeks. Finally, she composed herself enough to speak. "It's just – this is how we spent our first anniversary."

Amanda laughed again, and Quentin joined her. He put his arm around her, and said, "I guess this means you're really Quentin Collins' wife. You know how to get drunk!"

The pair fell into hysterical laughter. They did not see their son walk out of his bedroom in his little nightgown, rubbing his eyes. The child's eyes fell on his parents, who were giggling and trying to suppress their laughter. Jamison frowned, and said, "Mama! Dada!" The two looked up and saw their little child standing in his doorway, scowling at them. Their faces still contained the remnants of the laughter that had just been finalized. Jamison stared at his mother, and said, "Mama, why?"

Amanda got up, staggered over to the child, knelt before him, and said, "Why what, darling?"

Jamison stepped backward to escape the alcoholic smell of her breath. "Why Mama act silly?"

Amanda somewhat sobered, and Quentin came over to them, staggering also. "Jamison, you don't understand," Quentin slurred, trying to remain upright, "We were just having fun. It may seem silly to you, but when you're bigger, you'll understand."

Jamison's expression changed to one of confusion and sadness. "Me big now," he wailed.

Quentin kneeled beside Amanda and tried to explain. "Of course you are! But this kind of enjoyment is for adults. When you're even bigger than you are now, you'll be able to understand."

Jamison still did not look convinced. He hung his head and headed back to his crib. Amanda said, "Jamsey, do you need help to get back in your crib?"

"No, Mama," Jamison said sullenly. Amanda and Quentin looked at each other – they knew their boy may be two, but mentally he was growing up fast.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four – A Different Lifestyle

Amanda was bathing Jamison in a large basin when someone knocked on her door. Amanda scurried from the bathroom to open the door for the unexpected visitor. On her doorstep stood a broad Native American with a note in his hand. Handing the note to her, he said with a deep accent, "This is for you. A Mr. Frederick Thorn gave it to me."

"Thank you," Amanda said, hurriedly opening the message. It read:

_Darling,_

_I ran into Mrs. Shaw this morning, and from her talk, it seemed like she would be stopping by with her daughter for lunch. I couldn't tell her no, nor could I phone you (obviously), so please forgive this late message – it was a busy day at the office (heh, heh)._

_I'll try to make it there before she comes, but I thought I'd send the note along just in case._

_I love you, darling. I think of you every day._

_Lovingly,_

_Frederick._

Amanda heaved a big sigh. She still had to finish bathing Jamison, plus get dinner ready, and get into suitable clothes for company. When she came down to Earth and out of her thoughts, she realized the Native American messenger was still standing there. The man realized that he was noticed, and said, "The gentleman assured me I would be paid for my trouble."

"Oh," Amanda said, "Just a moment." She hurried in the house, found where Quentin kept the money, and produced in her hand twenty guineas. She sprinted back to the door, and poured the coins into the man's eager hands. Amanda smiled at him, until she saw his shocked face. Her face falling, Amanda asked, "Isn't it enough?"

"Yes," the man said strangely, "Not many people are as generous as you." He stared up at the perplexed woman, and added, "This is worth four hundred shillings."

Amanda covered her mouth for a moment, but soon recovered. "We are not rich, but good people," she said, trying to sound convincing. When Quentin heard of this, she would never be trusted with money again!

The man raised an eyebrow. "You think we need the charity of others?"

"No," Amanda said, blushing, "It's – it's – it's just that we love to give," she ended lamely.

"Very well," the man said, still not convinced, "I thank you." He turned on his heel and left, still marveling at the generosity of the woman.

Amanda worriedly re-entered the house. Her economic mistake was the least of her worries at the moment; she had a child to bathe, and a lunch to prepare.

* * *

Amanda pulled the deer roast from atop the wood stove. She opened it a bit to check it was done, which it was. Thank goodness I've already dressed, Amanda thought to herself. The dress she was wearing was really old-fashioned, even for that year. It was one of the dresses that the Evans family had given them, and, although very pretty, she feared that Deirdre Shaw would think her hostess very antique in her thinking, even though that was the only dress Amanda felt comfortable entertaining with. It was white with very puffy lace sleeves, and not requiring as wide a petticoat as the dresses new at the time.

Amanda seated Jamison in a highchair Quentin had made himself. Again, his clothes were terribly out of style. He had on a blue tunic with a large white lace collar, and a brown sash that draped over his shoulder and tied around his waist. Elissa had told them it was Dutch, but she evaded revealing the year for which it was made.

A knock came upon the door. Amanda hurriedly put the deer meat and a jug of milk on the table, and rushed to the door. Deirdre glanced a curious eye at Amanda's attire; Deirdre herself was dressed in a cumbersome black dress with the same kind of lace collar as her son's (Amanda breathed a sigh of relief), and down the middle, where the black part of the dress was open like a jacket, there was a rosy, form-fitting section. Honora had come with her, and wore a bright yellow dress that matched her hair; her dress had a figure, and sleeves that did not cover the entire latter part of the arm. Yet the dress was very modest (Amanda's had a low neckline, while neither Honora's nor Deirdre's did), and very customary for an eighteen-year-old girl.

Deirdre smiled pleasantly, and said, "How d'ye do, Mrs. Thorn? My daughter and I have arrived in time for lunch, I gather?"

Amanda smiled nervously. "Yes, yes – please, come in."

Amanda opened the door wide, and the duo entered the house, and looked around in awe. Both had fair hair that was let loose on this occasion; however, Honora's was curly rather than straight, since Royale's dark hair had, too, been curly. Honora spoke first. "I declare, Mrs. Thorn, your house is grander than Bedford Castle!"

"Hardly," Amanda smiled tersely, "'Tis only one floor, and made of wood."

"You saw our home, Mrs. Thorn," Deirdre explained, "It is no palace."

"Neither is ours," Amanda protested.

Honora's eyes fixed on the dining table. "Wherever did you find such succulent deer?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Pay her no mind, Mrs. Thorn," Deridre said apologetically, "All she can think abou' is 'er stomach."

The two sat down at the table, and Amanda started to cut the meat. She handed a slab to each of her guests, herself, and she cut off a smaller bit for Jamison. She proceeded to cut his bit of meat into tiny pieces. The child could chew, but he had only fifteen teeth as of yet.

"Wherever did you find that charming dress?" Deirdre asked.

Amanda looked down at her outdated dress. "Elissa Evans gave it to me."

Deirdre again looked curiously at it, but decided not to comment. She took a bite, then returned to the topic. "I wore something like that on my wedding day."

Amanda cast a look of horror at the dress. "It's a wedding dress?" she spat.

"It can be," Deirdre said, "It can be an evening gown as well." After taking another bite, she said, "You didn't cook with it, I hope?"

"No," Amanda said somberly as she cut a piece of her own meat and started her own meal.

* * *

Deirdre, Honora, and Amanda were drinking milk when Quentin walked through the door. He looked at the barren plate that contained the deer, and said, "Am I too late for lunch?"

"It's in the kitchen, honey," Amanda said absently.

Deirdre and Honora stared at her while Quentin went to the kitchen to fix his lunch. Deirdre finally said with some amazement, "'E gets 'is own lunch?"

"Sometimes," Amanda said, oblivious to the fact she was violating an unwritten rule.

"Prunella, you, as 'is wife, 'ave a duty to fix 'is meals," Deirdre said matter-of-factly.

Amanda's eyes grew wide as she realized what century she was in. "Frederick," she said loudly as she ran to help him, "You should go and sit down. I'll fix your lunch."

Quentin, bewildered, walked back to the table and took a seat at the head. Deirdre and Honora were smiling pleasantly at him, but he could not think of a thing to say to either of them. He cleared his throat, and said, "How's Royale?"

"In what respect?" Deirdre asked, perplexed.

"How is his health?" Quentin asked loudly.

"Oh, 'e is well," Deirdre said happily. Honora reached over for the jug, but Deirdre placed a hand on her arm. "Don't take too much, Honora; you might be ill."

Honora sadly returned to seat comfortably in her chair. Amanda came in and placed Quentin's lunch in front of him. Smilingly, she said, "Is there anything else you want?"

"Not at the moment," he said, already eating his deer meat.

"Mrs. Thorn, we must be going," Deirdre said, rising suddenly. Honora rose, too, and Amanda walked them to the door. "Royale will be 'ome in two hours; I must fix 'is dinner."

"I understand," Amanda said, "Have a pleasant day."

Deirdre again looked at Amanda curiously. "Of course, Mrs. Thorn."

Amanda shut the door behind them, and returned to her eating husband. "Well, that went over well," Amanda said sarcastically.

"What went wrong?" Quentin asked through a mouthful of food.

"Everything!" Amanda vented. "This dress is a wedding dress, I told you in subtle terms to fix your own lunch – even wishing someone a good day is foreign here! I want to go home."

"Soon, Amanda," Quentin said as he rose and put his hands on her arms, "The warp will come soon."

"Not soon enough," Amanda said stubbornly.

Quentin sighed and returned to his lunch; he still had half a day ahead of him in the shop.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five – Clear Day in April

Once more, the Thorn family was walking up the still-unpaved road to the top of the hill, where the future owner of this town would build Collinwood. Quentin, Amanda, and Jamison visited this site once a week. The townspeople merely thought them odd; Quentin explained to his customers that his family likes to be alone in nature for a while, and he complies. Whatever the townspeople thought, they surely could not know that they climbed the hill every week to look for a giant warp in time that brought the family from the year 1972.

Quentin helped Amanda and Jamison over the last treacherous bump in the road. Amanda straightened up, and saw the forest uncut, the way Isaac Collins would see it when he docks in 1690. The everlasting beauty of the woods took her breath away. "No wonder the original Collins wanted to live here," Amanda said breathlessly.

"Yes, it is beautiful," Quentin said, squinting ahead, "C'mon, the path is this way."

The threesome weaved their way around trees and other types of shrubbery before walking up to the spot where they had landed four months ago. Quentin sat down, leaning against the tree, while Amanda stared at the spot, and clutched Jamison tightly. After twenty minutes, Amanda glared at Quentin. "How can you just sit there?"

"Amanda, we've tried everything to bring the warp here," Quentin sighed, "We've tried re-enacting what we were doing at the time, we've tried pleading, we've tried being nonchalant. Nothing has worked so far; so I'm just sitting here."

Amanda scoffed, and kneeled next to Jamison. "Jamsey, sweetheart," Amanda said, "Maybe you can bring the warp back."

"How?" Jamison asked.

"Try calling to it," Amanda suggested.

"Mister warp," Jamison cried, "Please come back."

Amanda and Jamison stood, staring at the appointed spot, but nothing came. Quentin sighed behind them. "Calling to it won't bring it back. It's not human."

"Well, of course it's not, Quentin," Amanda spat as she turned around to face him, "I am desperate to get back."

"I am, too," Quentin said defensively as he stood and walked over to his wife, "I just think we have to wait a little while longer for it to return."

"Oh, where is it?" she cried. "Doesn't it know that we don't belong here?"

"We don't belong in 1972, either," Quentin said softly, "Whatever it is, it knows we belong in the past."

"But not this far back!" Amanda wailed. "Besides, Jamison belongs to the future."

"Hold on, Amanda," Quentin said, attempting a smile, "Jamison belongs with us."

Amanda and Quentin hugged; meanwhile, unbeknownst to the parents, Jamison saw a chipmunk scurry into a deeper part of the woods, and he scampered after it. Amanda saw this action out of the corner of her eye, and cried, "Jamison!" before running after him.

Quentin looked around to see where his wife and son had gone. He saw Amanda's skirt trailing behind her, and he ran fast to catch up with them.

Jamison, unknowingly the front of the line and the cause of the chase, finally caught up to the chipmunk, and held it in his hand. The chipmunk was trembling in his hand, scared of what this big creature was going to do to it. Jamison, however, raised a solitary chubby finger, and stroked the chipmunk's head gently. Amanda arrived, breathless, with Quentin right behind her. Amanda hugged Jamison tightly, saying, "Oh, honey, don't ever run away like that again! Oh, you have Mommy such a fright, darling!" She released the child, and smoothed his jet-black hair, which was mussed from running. She looked down to the small woodland creature in his hand. "What is that, darling?" she asked.

"Me can keep it?" Jamison asked hopefully.

"I don't know," Amanda said, trying to think of a single reason why Jamison couldn't keep a pet chipmunk, "Quentin?"

"Hell, yeah," Quentin laughed, rubbing his hand over Jamison's hair, messing it up even more, "What are you going to name it?"

Jamison stared at the chipmunk as if in thought. "Gway Spots," he said finally.

"Gray Spots?" Amanda asked curiously. "Why Gray Spots?"

"Look," Jamison said, holding up the chipmunk to his mother's point of view.

She saw the chipmunk, whose base color was brown, but had almost undetectable gray spots all over it. "Oh," she said, "Gray Spots. I get it." Amanda laid a hand on his shoulder. "But you'll have to feed and water it every day. Your father will fashion a cage for it today so it won't run away. Okay?"

"Okay," Jamison said cheerfully, "What Gway Spots eat, Mama?"

Amanda looked at Quentin, her eyes demanding that he answer the question. Amanda had no knowledge of woodland animals ate, since she grew up in New York City. Quentin cleared his throat and said, "Fruits, berries, seeds, mushrooms, and insects."

Jamison smiled, and told the chipmunk, "Me gonna take care of Gway Spots. Gway Spots an' me gonna be best fwend."

"Of course he is, darling," Amanda said tearfully. She held her child close to her, remembering the fearful jolt in her stomach when she realized he was running away. That must never happen again – never!

* * *

As promised, that afternoon Quentin made a wooden cage for Gray Spots. Jamison happily introduced the chipmunk to his new home, and fed him the fruits and berries he can picked from outside; also, the child gave him a bowl of water. The chipmunk seemed at ease, so Quentin called upon the Shaw household to see if Honora could babysit his son that evening. Honora could not say no to the massive amount the Thorns were going to pay her: twenty-five guineas.

Honora arrived at five o'clock that evening so Quentin and Amanda could take their leave. As soon as they were outside, Quentin asked his wife, "Where do you wish to go, my dear?"

A strong wind came, bringing with it a sweet, salty smell. "The ocean," she said wistfully.

Quentin nodded, and they trekked to the ocean. When they arrived, the sky was giving them notice that the sun would be setting soon. Quentin and Amanda stood a few feet away from the ebbing tide, and watched the ocean's waves pound upon the sandy shore. Quentin wrapped his arms around his wife's waist as she leaned on him for support. "I love you, Quentin," she whispered.

"I love you, too, Amanda," Quentin said as he leaned to kiss her cheek. "God, how I love you." With those sweet words still lingering on his lips, he kissed her mouth with fiery passion.

Still weak emotionally, Amanda said, "Let's find a log and watch the sunset."

Quentin nodded, and scanned the beach with his eyes until they fell upon a large piece of driftwood that had washed up on shore. He took Amanda's hand, and they sat on the sturdy log. They watched in amazement as the sky turned shades of red and pink. As the sun sank below the horizon, Quentin and Amanda saw in themselves the happiness each had brought to the other; they shared a kiss for the last few moments of daylight on that clear day in April.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six – A New Neighbor

Amanda woke one sunny spring morning to the sound of many people chopping wood. Beside her, Quentin rolled over, and mumbled, "Turn down the sound, Amanda."

Amanda glared at her blissful husband, and rose from the bed. She wrapped her robe around her, and looked outside her window to see many men hard at work. They seemed to be chopping wood and nailing boards together. "Quentin!" Amanda exclaimed. "Someone's building a house!"

Quentin sleepily got out of bed, and joined Amanda at their window. Just a few feet away, men were erecting a house. "Yep," Quentin yawned. Putting his arms around her shoulders, he adds, "Could you put on some tea, dear?"

As Quentin kissed her ear, she smirked and said, "Sure, honey. Whatever you say."

She slipped her feet into slippers, and walked into the kitchen. Carefully, she lit the wood inside the stove and placed a glass pot of water on top. Quentin grabbed her waist from behind, and turned her around to face him. She was going to say something, but he placed a finger over her lips. "Don't worry, honey. I haven't forgotten." He pulled out a rectangular box from his nightgown pocket. "Happy birthday, honey," he said, kissing her forehead.

Amanda became misty-eyed as she opened the small box that revealed a pendant watch on a sliver chain. The watch was beautiful, studded with twenty-five pearls for each year she lived before she was granted immortality. "Oh, Quentin, I love it!" Amanda exclaimed, kissing her husband on the cheek. She turned her back to him, and held her watch in her hand. "Could you fasten it, please, darling?"

"Of course," Quentin smiled as he placed his gift on his wife. As soon as the clasp was fastened, he kissed the back of her neck. "All done."

"Thank you, honey," Amanda said as she faced him again and kissed him quickly on his lips.

Jamison came running out of his bedroom in his nightgown with a fistful of bird of paradise flowers. He held out the colorful array, and said, "These for you. Happy birthday, Mama."

Amanda gathered the flowers into her own hands, and smelled them. "Oh, thank you, Jamison," she said as she kneeled and kissed his cheek. She was almost in tears because of all the wonderful gifts and love she received this morning.

A knock on their door disturbed her happy moment. She and Quentin shared a quizzical look before she walked to the door and opened it. On their front stoop stood a man of about forty with balding brown hair and a beard. He smiled wide, and said, "My dear lady, my name is Mr. Pippin Stiles." The man took off his hat and bowed. Straightening up, he continued, "I am a recent immigrant to the New World, and I feel that Pomegranate Harbor is the perfect place in which to reside. I have come to your door to introduce myself to yourself and your family, if I may."

Amanda shrugged slightly. "Yes, of course, Mr. Stiles. Please, do come in." The man bowed graciously again, and entered the house. Amanda followed him, saying, "Frederick! We have a visitor!"

Pippin looked at Amanda askance for a moment, but Quentin entered the hall after retrieving his own robe. Quentin extended his hand, and said, "Good morning, sir. My name is Mr. Frederick Thorn. What may I assist you with today?"

"As I was explaining to your wife, I shall be residing in the house that is being built beside yours. I came over here to introduce myself with my new neighbors. My name is Mr. Pippin Stiles," the man concluded, grasping Quentin's hand and shaking it. The man looked about their house. "I say, sir, did you build this house yourself?"

"Yes," Quentin smiled, "With the help of my wife and son."

The man grinned over at Amanda. "I daresay you are lucky in that respect, sir."

"You have ten men working on yours," Quentin said, perplexed.

"Nay, sir, you do not understand," the man said, "To have a family – you are very blessed."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Stiles," Quentin grinned crookedly, "I like to think so."

A very heavy silence passed between the three adults. Amanda cleared her throat and said, "I was making tea. Would you like to partake, Mr. Stiles?"

"I would be delighted to, my lady," the man said, bowing again.

Amanda looked at him questioningly before heading to the kitchen. Quentin said, "Please, Mr. Stiles, won't you come this way." Quentin led the man into the living room that was modestly furnished. Pippin sat in one of the wooden chairs that faced the small table in the middle of the room. Quentin sat in a similar chair, and asked, "What business are you in, Mr. Stiles?"

"I am a blacksmith. I have just been hired by a man called Reeves to work for him as a forger." The man paused as if in thought. "Do you know him?" Quentin shook his head. Pippin smiled anyway. "And what do you do for a living, Mr. Thorn?"

"I own my own business," Quentin said, "I am the gunsmith of Pomegranate Harbor."

Pippin smiled. "I am glad, then, that I manufacture iron and not rifles." Amanda brought in a tray of tea and mugs from the kitchen. Pippin sat at the edge of his chair, and exclaimed enthusiastically, "Tea! Thank you, good lady."

Amanda smiled slightly as she poured the tea into the three mugs. "Would you like sugar, Mr. Stiles?" Amanda asked.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Thorn. You have done enough already." Amanda handed him his mug. Sitting down, she gave Quentin his tea, too. As Pippin sipped the tea, he saw Jamison, still in his nightgown, come into the living room. "And who is this little lad?" he simpered.

Amanda glanced at her child. "That is Jamison, our child."

"Come here, laddie," the man said, motioning with his hand for Jamison to step forward.

Instead, Jamison hid in his mother's skirt. "He's afraid of strangers," Amanda said apologetically.

"Oh, I see," Pippin said gravely. On closer inspection, he asked, "What is that in his hand?"

"Oh, that's his pet chipmunk," Quentin said smilingly.

"Gway Spots," Jamison said softly, his words muffled by his mother's skirt.

"How old is the lad?" Pippin asked.

"Two years, Mr. Stiles," Quentin said as he sipped his own tea.

"And you said he helped build this house?" Pippin said incredulously. Quentin nodded as Pippin took out his pocket watch. "I am terribly sorry, Mr. Thorn, but I have to get back to my men."

"Understood," Quentin said kindly as he stood and shook Pippin's hand again, "It was pleasure meeting you, Mr. Stiles."

"Oh, please, Mr. Thorn – the pleasure was mine." Releasing Quentin's hand, Pippin looked down at Jamison, and said, "Good-bye, laddie."

"Bye," Jamison said dubiously.

The man left the house, and Quentin and Amanda looked at each other, the same curious look in their eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Sinister Woman

The spring days melted into summer, and with each passing day, Amanda grew more convinced that the Thorn family would be their permanent name. On this particular day, the construction at the side of their house was finished, and the day was clear and bright, with just a hint of summer breeze bringing savory smells from the sea.

Jamison bounded out of his room with Gray Spots in his hand. "Mama," he said, tugging on her skirt.

"What is it, darling?" Amanda asked lovingly.

"Mama, Gway Spots an' me wanna play outside."

Amanda looked at him with an amused, pensive look. "I don't know, darling. I wouldn't want you to lose Gray Spots."

"Me won't, Mama," Jamison said, his little face serious.

Amanda sighed and looked out the kitchen window. "Well . . . I suppose you could, Jamison." Jamison jumped for joy – literally. Amanda became stern and serious, and added, "But don't play by the new house; there could still be construction tools, and you could get hurt. I'll join you in a few minutes." She paused and stroked his cheek. "Okay?"

"Okay," Jamison said as he hurriedly scampered to the back door.

"And don't leave our yard!" Amanda yelled at his disappearing figure. She smiled, shook her head, and sighed before she went into her room to change into something suitable for playing in.

* * *

Jamison put Gray Spots on the ground, and as the chipmunk walked forward, Jamison would let the pet walk a few steps, then Jamison would jump beside him. At first, this game seemed fun for both of them, but the chipmunk saw a far-off seed that was in their neighbor's yard, and went scurrying after it. Jamison watched in horror as Gray Spots crossed the unseen boundary line, and quickly ran after him. He pounced, careful not to hurt his little friend, and, laying on the ground, he said, "No, Gway Spots. Me an' you can't be hewe. Mama said no." Jamison poked his head up and looked around. "Me an' you gotta go back to ouw yawd."

Jamison stood up, and brushed off the dirt from his knees. Looking up again, he saw a neighbor of theirs that he didn't know, but who Amanda had met months ago: Edna Palmer. To Jamison, she seemed to be a giant with a long silvery skirt. He gathered that this mystery woman was just as tall as his father, and had fiery red hair which had been brushed back and tied up. The woman knelt beside him, and asked in her blunt way, "Little boy, what are you doing in my yard?" Jamison stared at her, too terrified to speak. To him, she looked like the witches her mother always described in his fairy tales: pointy eyebrows, wicked smile, and bad teeth. He tried to speak, but no words would come out. "Come, come, boy, cat got your tongue?" Edna asked sternly.

"Me – I mean, Gway Spots -."

"Gray Spots? Who is Gray Spots?" Edna asked, her irritation clearly formed on her face. Jamison wordlessly held out the hand containing his dear little pet. Edna raised her eyebrows, and said, "Oh. Do go on, boy."

"Gway Spots came hewe. Me twy stop him. Mama no let me come in other yawds," Jamison said nervously.

"Oh, I see. And who is your mother?" Edna asked.

"She live thewe," Jamison said, pointing at their house.

"Your mother is Prunella Thorn?" Edna asked curiously.

Jamison cocked his head, and looked at her, confused. "Mama is Mama."

"Of course," Edna smiled, baring her malformed teeth. A glint of devilishness in her eyes, she said, "Little boy, would you like to come inside to partake in some pudding?"

Jamison's eyes lit up, but then he stared at the ground. "Sowwy, lady. Mama said me can't leave yawd."

"But, little boy, you've already left your yard," Edna said calmly, "I just want to show you that I am not angry at you."

"Oh," Jamison said, seeing the logic in her argument, "Me still have to ask Mama."

"I am sure she would not, mind, young boy," Edna said, smiling evilly.

Jamison had slight misgivings about going with this lady, but the prospect of pudding seemed overwhelming. At this particular moment, Amanda exited the house, dressed in a plain brown dress, a cap covering the majority of her dark hair. "Jamison Thorn!" Amanda exclaimed, stomping over to her neighbor's yard. Edna noticed the incoming mother, and she stood tall. Amanda grabbed Jamison by the shoulder. "Mrs. Palmer, I do hope he was of no inconvenience," Amanda said graciously.

"No, of course not," Edna said smilingly, "In fact, I invited him to partake in some pudding. Would you allow him to do so?"

Amanda was about to say yes, but she looked at the sky. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Palmer, but the hour is striking late. I do not wish Jamison to ruin his supper."

"Of course," Edna said sweetly, "May I also add you have a charming child. What is his name?"

"Jamison," Amanda said stiffly, "And as of right now, he's in trouble. March, young man."

Jamison cast his head down, and walked into their parent's household with Amanda right behind him. Edna, in her yard, grinned maliciously, and said, "Jamison Thorn. I think I have many uses for you."


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Miracle of Miracles

Amanda woke up at five o'clock on a July morning. Even though the sun had yet to rise, Amanda felt the summer heat much more keenly than before. She grabbed the hem of the bed sheet, and started fanning her face with it as she was starting to perspire. The combination of the sheet moving consistently and the wind coming up on his face woke Quentin from his slumber. "Hey, Amanda?" Quentin mumbled in his pillow.

"Yes?" she replied quietly.

"Stop making so much air," he said, "It's cold in here." As if to punctuate his point, he shivered and brought the blanket closer to him.

Amanda let out a stream of breath. "I'm boiling, Quentin. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Quentin rolled over to face her, very concerned. "Are you ill?" he asked.

Just then, a wave of nausea hit her. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress her own bodily reactions, and said, "Maybe."

Quentin reached up and felt her forehead with the back of his hand. "I think I should stay home today and take care of you."

Amanda shook her head. "Honey, you have to work."

Quentin smiled and kissed her cheek. "The business will still be there tomorrow."

"What if someone comes along and takes away your customers?" Amanda said, her sad eyes peering into his.

"I hardly think someone will arrive today and take all my business," Quentin sighed. Smiling, he tried to kiss his wife on the mouth, but Amanda jumped up, clutching her mouth, and ran to the bathroom window as her nausea overcame her.

* * *

Later that morning, Quentin knocked on the bedroom door. From within, Amanda's weak voice said, "Come in."

Quentin poked his head in the door. "Feeling better?" he asked. Amanda smiled wanly and nodded. He shifted his feet. "Better enough for food?"

"Quentin," Amanda said, trying to be stern, but her smile gave her away, "Did you bring me breakfast in bed?"

Quentin smiled boyishly. "Yeah, I kinda did."

He opened the door all the way, revealing a tray. Jamison, who Quentin neglected to dress in day clothes, bounded in and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Me want Mama to feel bettew," he said solemnly.

"Oh, honey, I will," Amanda said smilingly, "I just – have the flu, that's all, honey." Smoothing his hair, she said, "Why don't you go and play with Gray Spots, okay? I need to talk to your Daddy."

Jamison nodded, and scurried off. Quentin put the tray in front of her. Her nausea seemed to have subsided for the moment, and as she took a bite of food, she said, "I think I'm pregnant again."

Quentin's expression was one of complete shock. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Well," Amanda said slowly, "In a month, I'll go and see a doctor, but I seem to be having the same symptoms."

"Like?" Quentin prompted.

"Like the nausea, plus I – I'm late," Amanda blushed.

"How late?" Quentin said uncomfortably.

"Two days," she replied. Pausing, she took another bite of food. "I guess we should have expected it. There's no form of protection here." Hesitantly, she asked, "It wouldn't be too bad – would it?"

"Are you kidding?" Quentin said, drawing Amanda, fork and all, into an embrace. "I'd love to have another kid!"

Amanda laughed, sharing Quentin's euphoria. Pulling back a bit from the embrace, she planted a happy kiss on Quentin's mouth.

* * *

The next month, Amanda returned to her house after visiting the local town doctor. She looked winded; the August heat hadn't been much kinder than July. She removed her wrap, and looked in the kitchen for something to cook Quentin – he would be home from work then, and she'd have to break the news to him. She opened a make-shift ice-box that Quentin had made for them, and removed spare beaver to cook for him. Honora emerged from Jamison's room, with the child close behind her. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Thorn," Honora said cordially, "I trust your trip into town was favorable?"

"Quite," Amanda said as she lit a fire in the wood stove. Placing a Dutch oven on the surface, which contained the beaver, she smiled and said, "How was Jamison today?"

"Wonderful, Mrs. Thorn," Honora said elatedly, "I just adore the little lad. I would envy you the opportunity of having a child, if envy wasn't an original sin."

Amanda smiled and poured twenty guineas into Honora's awaiting hand. "Good day, Mrs. Thorn," the girl said happily as she left the house.

"Thank you so very much, Honora," Amanda said to her as she closed the door. Amanda turned around and faced Jamison, clapped her hands together, and said, "Why don't I put you in your highchair so I can serve you your lunch?"

"Me like highchaiw," Jamison said happily.

Amanda picked him up, and said, "Jamsey! You're getting to be a big boy!" She situated the child into his chair, and added, "You like beaver, don't you?"

Jamison nodded and smiled. Quentin walked in the door, and immediately gravitated toward his wife. He put his hand on her waist, pulled her closer to him, and kissed her. "Honey, I'm home," Quentin said jokingly.

"Oh, sit down, Quentin," Amanda laughed as she dished up beaver for the three of them. She placed the three plates on the table, yet remained standing. Quentin looked up at her expectantly, and even Jamison eventually abandoned his lunch and stared curiously at his mother. Amanda took a deep breath, and said, "I went to the doctor's today, and found out that I am indeed expecting another child."

Quentin laughed uproariously, and embraced Amanda immediately, kissing the whole of her face. Jamison, however, was still staring at his mother, a serious look on his face. Amanda noticed this, and asked Jamison, "Darling, what's the matter?"

"Why you want anothew kid?" Jamison demanded.

Amanda approached the child. "Honey, it's not like we don't love you; it's just that we want you to have the opportunity to have other brothers and sisters to play with."

Jamison seemed to think this over, and said, "Okay."

Amanda smiled kindly at him and kissed his cheek. "I knew you'd understand."

"Mama?" the child asked. "Can me name it?"

Amanda thought for a moment. "All right, darling. What do you want to name it?"

"Chawles," Jamison said.

Amanda looked over at Quentin, who shrugged his approval. "That's a good name, darling. If it's a boy, we'll name him Charles."

Jamison happily resumed his lunch; Amanda, however, walked back over to Quentin and held him tightly. Another wish had come true for her.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Autumn Winds

Quentin, Amanda, and Jamison are all descending the path leading to the top of Widow's Hill. "Once again, that was a complete waste of time!" Amanda pouted.

Quentin laid a hand on her shoulder. "One of these days, Amanda, the warp is going to come back."

Amanda looked into Quentin blue eyes. "What if it can't come back until Collinwood is built?" Amanda then became hysterical at the thought, and cried, "Oh, Quentin, I think I would just die!"

Amanda buried her head in her hands, and stopping walking the path. Quentin took her in his arms, and said, "Hey, now, Amanda, for one thing, you couldn't die even if you tried; for another, you're carrying our baby, so it would be selfish of you to die and take it with you."

Amanda looked up again, once again in complete control of herself. From below, they heard Jamison yell, "Mama! Daddy! Huwwy up!"

The couple laughed and descended the path quickly until they reached the beach below. They decided to bring Jamison to the shore, since the summer days were now ebbing into autumn. Quentin ruffled his son's hair. "My, my, we're certainly in a hurry, aren't we?"

Jamison grinned, and instantaneously ran off down the beach, alongside the waves. Quentin and Amanda sighed at their son's youthfulness, and sat down on a log, looking out over the ocean. Laying her head on Quentin's shoulder, Amanda asked, "Do you think we should tell Jamison that there could be a chance he could have a sister?"

Quentin held her closer, and said, "I think he already knows that, my dear."

"Yes, but he only picked out a name for a boy," Amanda explained, "I would hate for him to be disappointed. Maybe we should call him over and explain things – you know, have him pick a girl's name."

"Jamison!" Quentin yelled at the far-away figure. "Come here!" Jamison came running over hurriedly, and stopped before his father. "Your mother wishes to discuss something with you."

Amanda lifted her head, and held both of Jamison's. "Now, you picked a name for your new brother, right?" Jamison nodded enthusiastically. "Now, your father and I were talking, and we realized that the new baby could very well be a sister for you."

Jamison cocked his head, and said, "Sistew?"

Amanda said, "Yes, and because it may be a girl, we want you to pick a name for her."

"But I alweady picked a name, Mama," Jamison said, confused, "Mama not like it?"

Amanda held her son close, and said, "Of course. I loved it, but girls have different names than boys."

As Amanda released her son, Jamison asked, "Why?"

"Because," Amanda said, struggling for a reason, "That way everyone will know they're girls."

"But you look difewent," Jamison said, still perplexed, "Me know you a giwl, Mama."

"I know honey, but if you give a girl a boy's name, everyone will think something's wrong with her," Amanda said, running out of explanations, "Please, Jamison. Just pick a girl's name."

Jamison thought real hard, then said, "Amanda."

"See?" Quentin said impishly, "Told you Amanda was a good name for a girl."

Amanda ignored her husband, and asked her child, "Why Amanda, sweetie?"

"Me heaw Daddy call you that," Jamison smiled. Suddenly, perplexed expression crossed his face. "Mrs. Palmew say youw name Pwunella. Mrs. Palmew wong?"

"No, Jamison," Amanda said nervously, "Neither one of them are wrong. Amanda's my middle name, but everyone else in town calls me Prunella."

"Why Daddy call you by youw middle name?" Jamison asked, still confused.

"When you're married, my boy, you'll understand," Quentin smiled, patting his shoulder affectionately. "Why don't you go along and play?" Jamison's face lit up as he ran back down the beach where his neglected sand castle stood. Quentin put an arm around Amanda's shoulders, and said, "If we do have a little girl, are you going to call her Amanda?"

"Yes," Amanda said wistfully, "Amanda Alice Thorn."

"Hmm," Quentin said thoughtfully, "I think you should re-think her middle name. You see, I like Alexis."

Amanda shook her head, "Too modern." Amanda looked up at the sky, which was turning red – red like Julia's hair . . . Amanda remembered how the kind doctor had helped her escape from the Reverend Trask, and assisted her in re-gaining Quentin "I know," Amanda said, turning to Quentin with a certain burst of inspiration, "We'll call her Amanda Julia Thorn."

Quentin smirked, and looked off in the other direction. "Last time we were in 1972, she wasn't even speaking to us."

"Correction: she wasn't speaking to you," Amanda pointed out, "She was still talking to me."

Quentin looked at his wife, surprised by this revelation. "How come you never told me?"

"I didn't want you to feel too bad about betraying Barnabas," Amanda said guiltily. She took a deep breath, and said, "Amanda Julia Thorn if it's a girl; Charles Aristede Thorn if it's a boy."

"Aristede?" Quentin laughed. "Aristede tried to kill you."

"That was only when he thought I had the hand," Amanda protested, "Otherwise, he was very nice to me."

"Of course," Quentin said angrily, "Because he fancied himself a ladies' man, and he thought you were beautiful."

Amanda placed a hand over her mouth, and acted shocked. "You say that as if you think I'm not beautiful," Amanda said, mockingly sad.

"You know what I mean," Quentin said as he looked over to check on Jamison, "I don't see why we should immortalize him in our son's name."

"I know why," Amanda said, tilting her chin up, "Because he's part of our past. Face it, Quentin; would you really be married to me if the hand and Count Petofi and Aristede never came to Collinwood?"

Quentin sighed. "No, I guess not," he admitted.

"Then it's settled," Amanda said, "Amanda Julia Thorn or Charles Aristede Thorn: either way, it will be all ours."

Amanda smiled and kissed her husband. Their romantic moment was interrupted by their son running up to them, and saying, "Mama! Daddy! Come see my sand castle!"

Quentin and Amanda looked at each other, laughter twinkling in their eyes, before they followed Jamison to see his magnificently built sand castle. After that followed a series of games and rough-housing until the day got dark, and the little family headed home.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty – Escape

Quentin was tying his cassock one October morning when he heard a knock upon his door. Curious, he looked down at his exhausted wife who was still sleeping, and decided to answer the door himself. He ambled to the front door, and opened it to find an exuberant Edna Palmer on his doorstep. "Yes?" Quentin asked cautiously.

Jamison appeared behind his father, sleepily saying, "Hello, Mrs. Palmew."

"Well, good morning, young Thorn," Edna said enthusiastically, bending down to his height.

Quentin furrowed his brow at his neighbor's strange behavior, and said, "Is there anything I can help you with, Mrs. Palmer?"

Straightening up to face her host, she said, "My little niece is arriving from Massachusetts early today. I was wondering if little Jamison would like to come over and meet her."

Quentin thought for a moment. He knew about the pudding incident, and her too-happy expression made him doubtful of her intentions. "I don't know," Quentin said carefully, "You would have to ask my wife."

"Surely she would let the little lad loose for one day," Edna said, almost pleadingly. After a moment, she demanded, "Where is Prunella? I would like to have the ultimate pleasure of asking her myself."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Palmer, but Prunella is sleeping," Quentin said softly, "You will have to return later on."

"But my niece will already have arrived!" Edna said loudly.

"I truly am sorry, Mrs. Palmer," Quentin said, now in a stern voice, "But surely you must realize that you cannot take a mother's child away from her care behind her back." Quentin's eyebrows arched in a subtle warning as Edna huffed and stalked away.

Jamison tugged on Quentin's cassock, and asked, "Why the lady so mean to Mama?"

"I don't know, Jamison," Quentin sighed, "To be safe, don't let anyone inside unless your mother's with you. Okay?"

"Okay," Jamison said brightly.

Quentin smiled and ruffled his hair. "Good. Now, don't wake your mother. I have to go to work now; I'll be back in a couple hours, all right?"

Jamison nodded vigorously. Quentin kissed his son lightly on his forehead before leaving the house for the gunsmith shop. Jamison stared intently on the lock that was just beyond his reach. A bright idea entered his head as he grabbed one of the wooden chairs from the dining room, and stood on tippy-toe, trying to reach the lock for the door. He finally grasped the lock in his hand, and slid it over the door so Edna could not sneak inside. Just then, Amanda emerged from her bedroom. Hands on her hips, she said, "Jamison Thorn! Just what do you think you're doing?"

Jamison turned around on the chair. "Locking the doow, Mama."

"Why on Earth are you doing that?" Amanda asked as she walked over and set Jamison on the ground.

"So bad lady can't get in," Jamison said matter-of-factly.

Amanda grew solemn, and moved the chair back silently. After a moment, she turned to her son, and said, "Which bad lady?"

"Mrs. Palmew," he said.

Amanda bit her lip and knelt in front of her child, putting both hands on his shoulders. "Did she try and take you to her house again, darling?"

Jamison nodded. "She say hew niece come today."

Amanda bowed her head. "You know you mustn't go over to her house, not ever." She looked her son in his bright blue eyes. "Promise Mama you'll never go over there with her."

"I pwomise, Mama," Jamison said somberly. Crossing his heart with a single chubby finger, he said, "Cwoss my heawt."

Amanda hugged her son, and held on tightly. "I never want to lose you, Jamison."

"You won't, Mama," Jamison said as Amanda pulled away.

Amanda laughed and got to her feet. "How 'bout I make you some breakfast?"

"For Gway Spots, too?" Jamison said eagerly.

Amanda smiled hugely. "Yes, for Gray Spots, too," she said as she headed to the kitchen.

* * *

Later that day, as the married couple was getting ready for bed, Amanda said, "We really must do something about that evil woman."

"I know," Quentin said as he climbed under the covers.

Amanda sat in front of her mirror and started combing her hair. It had grown increasingly these few months that they had been staying in 1652; her dark brown hair now brushed against the far ends of her shoulders. "I got bad vibes from her as soon as I met her." Quentin laughed uproariously. Amanda turned around and glared at her husband, saying, "What?!"

"You really sound like a twentieth century woman," Quentin said, still trying to repress his laughter, "Aren't you going to light incense and call on the Spirit of Serenity?" Amanda playfully threw her comb at him, which bounced off his arm. "Ouch!" he laughed.

"Serves you right," Amanda smiled.

She rose to climb into bed also, but was stopped by her child's cry from his bedroom. "Mama!" he cried. "Mama, huwwy!"

Quentin and Amanda shared a worried glance before rushing into their child's bedroom. As soon as they opened the door, they found the source of their child's terror: a staircase which had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly, a big grin spread across Quentin's face. He jubilantly said, "Amanda! It's Quentin's staircase through time!"

Amanda quizzically looked over at his husband. "There was a Quentin before you?"

"Yes, my great-uncle!" Quentin said enthusiastically. He turned to his wife, and said, "Amanda, don't you see?! This is our way back!"

Before saying anymore, he ascended the stairs that led to a door high on the wall that was not there before. Before turning the handle, he turned back to face his puzzled wife and child, and motioned for them to follow him. Amanda said to Jamison, "Come on, honey. We have to go with your father."

"Hold on," Jamison said as he climbed out of bed and grabbed his pet chipmunk. With his other hand, he held onto his mother's skirt, and said, "Me weady."

Amanda nodded, and the two followed Quentin up the staircase and through the door. As Amanda closed the door behind them, the staircase disappeared from sight.

* * *

Quentin, Amanda, and Jamison descended the stairs in their house as it looked in the future. Modern appliances had been introduced, and Jamison's room obviously had another occupant. After the family had removed themselves from the staircase, it disappeared from sight. Utterly terrified now, the threesome stood in silence. It was night, and all the lights were out, yet the house seemed to be used. In Jamison's room, Quentin could faintly make out the outline of a calendar. He cautiously approached it, and read quietly for his family to hear, "October, 1922." He looked back at his wife in horror. "We're still too early."

"I remember this year," Amanda whispered, looking around the room, "I was still following you. I believe we were in Louisiana; you were a businessman, while I was in a vaudeville act."

"At least we won't run into our former selves," Quentin smirked, looking around the room, "It doesn't look like the inhabitants are home. Shall we entitle ourselves to some payment for our house deed?"

"Quentin!" Amanda said, shocked.

"We can't roam the streets of Collinsport in seventeenth century clothes!" Quentin said determinedly. "Look, all we're going to do is exchange our clothes. We won't take more than we need."

Still hesitant, Amanda nodded her head. "I hope these people have a little boy."

Quentin opened the closet to the room, and beamingly said, "They do!"

"I'll go look in the master bedroom," Amanda said. In her old room, she found that the mistress of her house was a flapper. Grimacing, she found a white dress with white buttons down the front, and which had short sleeves. Placing the dress on herself, she found that it dropped past her knees, and hit around mid-shin. She found stockings, ballet-type shoes, and a hat under which she could tuck all her hair. Quentin entered the bedroom and wolf-whistled at his wife. Turning around, she said, "How do I look?"

"Like a flapper," Quentin smirked, rummaging through the closet. He found a conservative-looking brown suit, vest, and tie. He shed his tunic, and dressed quickly. Looking at himself in the mirror, he said, "I do look the country gentleman."

"Where's Jamison?" Amanda said, looking at the doorway in apprehension.

"He's coming," Quentin said calmly.

Just then, Jamison entered the room dressed in knickerbockers, a blue and white striped shirt and jacket, and black boots that reached mid-shin. "Oh, look at my little man!" Amanda cried adoringly.

"Yep, boys knew how to dress in the 1900's," Quentin said proudly, "No fancy nightgowns or tunics – just trousers and boots." Straightening his tie, he said, "We probably should leave before the owners come back."

"But where will we go?" Amanda asked. "And what will we do with our clothes?"

"I told you, we'll just hang up our clothes in the closet," Quentin said calmly, "And I already know where we're going: Collinwood."

Amanda shook her head. "Too many people there will remember us."

"Just Jamison," Quentin said softly. He turned around to his wife. "He's the only one there who would remember us. I don't care if he asks questions; I always answer them."

"What about Nora?" Amanda asked curiously.

"She left after her marriage – moved to New York." Quentin picked up the clothes and hung them in the closet. After that, he picked up his son, and said, "Let's go, shall we?"

Amanda nodded, and the trio left the house quietly.

* * *

Quentin knocked on the door. From inside, he heard a gruff voice say, "Just a minute!" A man opened the door, and looked on the visitor with delight. "Uncle Quentin!" he exclaimed, pulling the man into a big bear hug.

"My, my, my, how you've changed!" Quentin said, holding Jamison at arm's length. The man was about 6'1, with the same brown hair, and same jovial smile and kind eyes. "You're still the same, though, Jamison!"

A look of curiosity crossed the elder Jamison's eyes. "I may have changed, but you look the same, Uncle Quentin."

"Ah, just the luck of good breeding," Quentin said jokingly. He cleared his throat, and said, "I assume you remember Amanda. She's my wife now."

"It's good to see you again, though I barely remember you from your short visit in 1897," Jamison said courteously, "I see you have a son."

"Yes, and another child on the way," Quentin said.

"What's your name, lad?" Jamison kindly asked his namesake.

"Jamison," the child said, clinging to his father.

"I named him after you, Jamison," Quentin said, deep affection for his nephew in his voice.

A moment of silence passed through the two men before Jamison said, "I have a child, too; a daughter."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Amanda exclaimed. "I hope for a daughter in May."

"You're married, Jamison?" Quentin asked casually, even though he knew he was.

"Yes, to a wonderful woman," Jamison replied, "Her name is Shonda. Hopefully, soon, she will procure me a son."

"Hopefully," Quentin smiled. He knew that a son would come in a matter of seven years, and his name would be Roger, the black sheep of this generation. "Jamison, can I ask a favor of you?"

"Of course, Uncle Quentin," Jamison said seriously, "You were so good to me in the past; I'd like to be able to help you now."

"Well, Amanda and I would like to stay at Collinwood if we may," Quentin said, "If not, we would gladly stay at the Inn."

"Of course you may stay," Jamison said, his expression brightened, "It would be my honor."

Quentin and Amanda looked at each other with smiling faces before stepping over the threshold of the great Collins mansion.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One – Encounter with an Artist

Amanda awoke the next morning, and the entire event of the night before came washing back. She wasn't in 1652 anymore, and she was glad; but, on the other hand, her family hadn't transgressed to the time from which they left, either. She looked at her husband, who was still sleeping. In his dreams, he wore a smile – Amanda knew how much reuniting with Jamison meant to him.

She got up from her bed, and wrapped around her the robe at the edge of the bed. Quentin had explained to Jamison and his wife how their luggage had been stolen, and Shonda had graciously lent Amanda a few of her clothes until she was ready to buy some – preferably the next morning. Amanda opened the curtain to their bedroom, which illuminated the walls with early morning light. She was living at Collinwood again, and neither her husband nor herself had to pretend any longer – they were home.

* * *

The next month found the inhabitants of Collinwood planning for a birthday party: Jamison's. On the morn of his birthday, Amanda and Quentin snuck into his bedroom, which Quentin immediately recognized as the guest room at Collinwood; Lady Kitty Hampshire, the widow of the Earl of Hampshire himself, stayed there once (Quentin and Amanda themselves had been staying in Nora's old room, still adorned with the girly accessories of the former inhabitant). Jamison lay, his sleep undisturbed. Gray Spots was residing on a bureau nearby, sleeping as well. Quentin and Amanda shared a look of excited amusement before Quentin gently shook the child, and said, "Jamison, wake up."

Jamison's beautiful blue eyes slowly opened and looked upon his father. "Hello, Daddy."

"Happy Birthday, son," Quentin said, handing him a wrapped gift. Jamison inspected his present: it was rectangular, kind of small, and not very wide. Quentin laughed at his son's antics, and said, "Well, go on, Jamison; open it!"

Jamison gave his father a big smile before tearing the lovely wrapping paper until he saw his mother's face on his gift. He looked astoundingly at his parents, but Quentin nudged him to unwrap the rest. When Jamison had all the wrapping paper ripped off and scattered along his bed, he stared at the incredible portrait of his mother that he held in his hands. It was exactly the portrait that he had admired in town when he and his parents were passing one of the shops. He had thought his parents so mean when they refused to buy him this portrait, but now he saw how very thoughtful they were; however, Jamison's lack of language only permitted him to say, "Thank you, Daddy. I love it."

Quentin jumped up immediately from Jamison's bed, and said, "Let's hang it up! Where do you want it?"

Jamison slowly climbed out of his bed. Looking around the room, he pointed to a space of wall beside the door. "There."

"Okay," Quentin smiled as he picked up the small portrait. He had made sure that there was already a string on it; he knew Jamison would want it hung. Quentin hung the portrait on a nail that had been there for many years. He stood back and admired it, straightening it until it was perfect. "How's it look?" Quentin asked his son.

"Perfect," Jamison said enthusiastically, "I'm gonna go and get 'Lizabeth. She said I not gonna get the picture."

With that, he went running through the hall to Elizabeth's room and banged on her door. Quentin and Amanda looked at each other and laughed. Amanda stood, and walked over to hug her husband. With her head buried in his shoulder, she asked, "What did we do to deserve him?"

"Depends on how you mean," Quentin smiled.

Amanda looked up at him, and glaringly slapped him on the shoulder. "You know what I mean. We are very lucky to have him. I hope our next child is just as wonderful."

"Honey, I was just joking!" Quentin exclaimed, holding his wife to him again. "Amanda, I love Jamison just as much as I love you. I know we may have deserved less, but we have a beautiful boy. I hope God gives us a beautiful girl in May."

"Even if it's a boy, it won't be that bad," Amanda said hesitantly.

"If we knew where Petofi was," Quentin said sternly, his face marred by anger.

They pulled apart once they heard the children laughing and running down the hall to Jamison's room. Jamison ran in, followed by a lovely girl of five years old. She had long black hair, and green eyes that sparkled. When Quentin and Amanda first saw her, they couldn't believe that this child would be the strong, severe woman that would inherit Collinwood in 1945. "There!" Jamison said breathlessly, waving his hand triumphantly in the direction of the portrait.

Elizabeth scrutinized the portrait carefully. She folded her arms in a pouting manner, and said, "Fine. They got it for you. What can it do?"

Jamison's face fell as he stared at her. "Do?! It's my mother! It not have to do anything!"

Elizabeth sneered gloatingly at Jamison, and said, "In other words, it does even less than that squirrel you brought with you!"

"It not a squirrel!" Jamison cried, holding back tears. "Gray Spots is a chimpmunk!"

"Same thing!" Elizabeth yelled.

"Hey!" Amanda said, interjecting herself into the conversation. "Let's not fight!" Amanda turned to Elizabeth, and said, "Lizzie, the portrait is a fine gift, and squirrels and chipmunks are not the same thing." Turning to her own said, "And Jamison, please – if you have a disagreement with Lizzie, try to settle it without yelling and fighting. Okay?" She asked, running a hand through his hair. She could already tell it was going to be as thick as his father's.

"Okay," Jamison agreed sullenly, staring at the floor.

"Good," Amanda said cheerfully, standing upright again, "Why don't you two run along and play before Jamison's birthday festivities?"

"Say, that's a great idea!" Quentin said. "It's a nice day outside – get some fresh air!" Elizabeth and Jamison smiled at each other before running out of Collinwood. Quentin wrapped his arms around his wife's waist (all the while noticing that her waist was growing now that she was in her fourth month), and said, "Great idea. Now we can have some alone time." He smiled and kissed her ear, but she pulled away from him. Quentin sighed, and said, "What's wrong now?"

"Nothing," Amanda said, "I think I'm going to take some of my own advice and walk in the woods."

"Just don't get trampled by a cowboy and an Indian girl!" Quentin joked.

* * *

Amanda loved the woods. This November day, while still chilly, seemed like the first days of autumn. The leaves were rustling all around her while the breeze picked them off the ground and swirled them at her feet. Amanda was not following a particular path; she decided to explore a little. With Gregory Trask and Quentin around in 1897, she never really got a chance to go anywhere, except the rectory. As this thought hit her, she wondered if it was still abandoned – or even still standing. Amanda immediately walked determinedly toward the last place she stayed at in Collinsport.

Yes, the rectory was still standing, and looked as if it had been abandoned since the day she left for New York. Timidly, she knocked on the door, half-expecting for Julia to emerge and give her shelter again. Instead, no one came. Following her compulsion to reminisce, Amanda tried the doorknob – the place was open. "Hello?" she asked, poking her head inside the door. Hearing no one answer, Amanda shrugged her shoulders, and entered.

If the rectory was a mess when she lived there, it was surely a dump now. The ground was littered with papers and sketches. It looked as if someone had been living there for quite some time, but Amanda rationed that if anyone were there now, they would have answered her.

Amanda shifted the papers out of her path with her foot, and opened the door to her old bedroom, where she was met with an aging Charles Delaware Tate. "Hello, Amanda," he said creepily, "I always knew you'd return."

Remembering their last encounter in 1897, Amanda screamed and tried to run for the door, but Charles pulled her back inside her room. "Let me go!" Amanda screeched, trying to pry the man's hand of her arm.

"I thought you'd have more respect for the man who envisioned your very existence," Charles said sarcastically.

Amanda struggled even more, but Charles threw her across the room. As his laughing voice filled the room, Amanda cried, "You're insane! Let me out of here!"

"Who knows you're here?" Charles asked.

"Jamison Collins," Amanda lied, "And Quentin."

"Quentin Collins," Charles said with some delight as he started pacing the room, "There's a man that I would like to see again. The man who stole you from me. Yes, I might keep you here just for the sake of seeing an old friend."

"He would kill you!" Amanda said, seeing that Charles left the door open and his back was turned.

As Amanda started to walk stealthily toward the open door, Charles said, "Would he, Amanda? I would like to see him try." Charles turned around to face Amanda, but she was not there. Amanda began to run for the exit, but Charles caught her by the ankles, and pinned her to the ground. "Let's not try and run away, shall we? It will do you no good!"

"Please let me go!" Amanda pleaded, trying to slip away from under Charles' weight.

"Oh, I see you're uncomfortable," Charles leered, "Maybe being tied up in a chair will make you more at ease!"

"Please!" Amanda cried as Charles lifted her to her feet. "I'm expecting!"

Charles stopped moving and stared at her. "Quentin's child?" he asked.

"Yes!" Amanda shouted defiantly. "Quentin and I are married!"

Charles' head trembled with pent-up anger. Finding a release, he slapped her across the face. "How dare you marry him? Don't you know what he is? He'll kill you!"

"No, he won't!" Amanda protested. "He loves me!"

"He can't help it, Amanda," Charles said, trying to be tender, "Someday, you'll find out his terrible secret-."

"I already know," Amanda said. Unable to keep the tears at bay any longer, they flooded over into her pretty face. "He's cured."

"Yes, but if someone found that portrait-." Charles stopped short, a wonderful idea popping into his head. "I painted your portrait!"

"So?" Amanda said warily.

Charles grabbed her roughly by her arm, and dragged her into another room that she had never seen before. In full view was a life-sized portrait of her. Charles threw her into a chair, and tied a rope around her, despite her vocal and physical protestations. "If Quentin's portrait is destroyed, Quentin's curse is ended," Charles said in a maniacal tone, "If I destroy your portrait, you may spontaneously combust, right in front of my eyes!"

"You wouldn't do that to me!" Amanda cried, still unsure herself, "I am pregnant!"

"Not for long," Charles said, striking a match over her portrait.

Amanda saw what he was doing, and started screaming, "Quentin! Quentin, where are you?! QUENTIN!"

"That won't help you now, Amanda," Charles said quietly. He let the portrait catch fire, and burn until it was a pile of embers at his feet. He then grabbed a jug of water, and put out the fire. As he turned around to see his work, he found Amanda, still alive and whole, crying tears of relief and worry. "It can't be," Charles said, shaking his head, "It can't be!"

Charles ran away in horror, pulling at his sandy hair. Amanda struggled to free herself, but all efforts were futile. Finally, she gave up, and cried, slumped over in her chair. She then heard a familiar voice say, "Amanda? Amanda, are you in here?"

"Quentin!" she sobbed. "Quentin, please, help me!"

Quentin rushed into the room, saw his wife tied up in a chair, and immediately started unknotting the rope. "My God, Amanda, who did this to you?"

"Charles," she said, trying to stop crying, "He's gone mad!"

Quentin untied the last knot, freeing Amanda. "So this is when it happened," Quentin said to himself, nodding his head.

"When what happened?" Amanda asked absently.

"When he went mad." Quentin walked over to his wife, and put his strong hands on her shoulders. "Don't you remember him dying?"

"But he wasn't mad then!" Amanda exclaimed, curious as to what Quentin was talking about.

"Well, I saw him before the terrible accident. He was very mad. Claimed he was a genius. Then he started laughing like a maniac; I threw something at him, but his head came off." Quentin looked down at his wife's shock-filled eyes, and added, "Don't worry; it was only a dummy. An animal killed the man."

Amanda looked around the room, her dark eyes filled with repressed fright. "Oh, Quentin, let's get out of here; he might come back."'

Quentin nodded as he put his arm around her, directing her to Collinwood.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two – Away

Charles Delaware Tate was not to be seen after the incident at the rectory. Jamison's party was a very happy affair, with cake, music, and games for the children. Quentin and Amanda marveled at their son's growth over the past year, while Jamison Sr. enjoyed being in the company of his favorite uncle.

Over the next month, both lines of the Collinses lived very happily together. Amanda got along wonderfully with Jamison's wife, Shondra. Elizabeth looked very much like her, with black hair and angular face; however, the girl had inherited her great-aunt Judith's emerald-green eyes. Jamison and Elizabeth were wonderful playmates. Even though there were two years of difference between them, they both enjoyed playing in the woods or with jacks or some other form of entertainment.

Quentin and Jamison acted like they were never separated to begin with. They were once more each other's confidant, telling each other their most treasured secrets. They went on long hikes together in the woods, and talked until all hours of the night. Shondra and Amanda were amazed at their husbands' fondness for each other; however, Amanda took it worse than Shondra.

One month after Jamison's birthday, Amanda waited in her room for Quentin to come to bed. She was now in the middle of her fifth month, and wasn't feeling very well: her back ached, as did her legs and her lower abdomen. She needed her husband, yet he was downstairs chatting with his new best friend that Amanda felt replaced her.

She made up her mind to go downstairs and see just what was so important or so interesting that Quentin could not tear himself away to be with his wife. She stood quickly, which caused her to experience extreme dizziness. She rapidly sat back down on the bed, cursing Quentin's very existence. Quentin then entered the room, and said, "Amanda, why don't you come downstairs? Jamison's been talking about this new restaurant for weeks; we were thinking about going."

Amanda sighed and said, "Quentin, I don't really feel like going out."

Quentin's face fell as he argued, "But Amanda! We haven't been out really since we came here. Jamison will be very hurt if you don't come."

Amanda's expression suddenly turned to extreme anger. "Do you never look at me?" Amanda demanded. "Look at my face! It's ugly!"

Immediately, she started crying. Quentin, unsure of what to do, sat down next to her, and said, "Amanda, you're the prettiest woman here on Earth."

Amanda glared at him through tear-filled eyes. "My face is full of spider veins," she said with quiet rage, "As are my shoulders and arms. Are you telling me that spider veins are pretty?"

"When they're on you," Quentin smiled, leaning in for a kiss. Amanda, however, turned away from him, and stubbornly stared at the wall. Quentin sighed exasperatedly, and said, "Amanda, no one's going care. They're going see you're pregnant, and they will remark how beautiful you are because of the baby. Because, Amanda, not in spite of."

"I'll believe it when I hear it," Amanda said tersely.

Quentin started rubbing Amanda's shoulder. She felt the pain in her back ease a bit while Quentin said, "Please, Amanda. Jamison doesn't even have to go. He'll understand; I really have been neglecting you."

Amanda released all her tears as she caved. "Oh, Quentin!" Amanda cried, turning around and holding on to him. Wiping her tears away, she smiled and let him go. "Just let me get ready," she said, standing up slowly and heading for the closet.

* * *

Quentin and Amanda exited the 1922 Ford truck that had brought them to Bangor, fifty miles from Collinsport. Amanda straightened her hat, and muttered, "When you said new restaurant, I thought you meant in Collinsport."

"Relax, it'll be fine," Quentin smiled as he led his wife into the restaurant. The waiter seated them in a cozy corner where they had a perfect view of the ballroom, complete with dancers. "I suppose you don't want to dance tonight," Quentin sighed, picking up one of the menus the waiter had left.

Amanda glared at him, and looked at her own menu. "The jumbo shrimp and crab looks good," Amanda said, "Ooh, so does the sautéed colossal crab with linguine!" Amanda looked up from the menu, and asked, "Quentin, can we have the jumbo shrimp and crab as appetizers?"

Quentin smirked. "You may. I'm not that hungry."

"You're hungry enough for dinner, aren't you?" Amanda said, her anger creeping up her body.

"Yes, but you can't expect me to eat as much as you," Quentin said absently, looking back at his menu, "Pasta sounds good; I'll think I'll have the manicotti." Hearing the sound of his wife crying, he looked up in concern, and asked, "Honey, what's wrong?"

"You think I'm fat!" Amanda sobbed.

"No, I don't!" Quentin exclaimed, very confused. He tried to lay a comforting hand over his wife's, but she pulled hers away. "Honey, I only meant that you're eating for two, and deep inside you, there's a very hungry child."

"But it's making me fat!" Amanda whined.

Just then, another waiter stopped at their table and asked, "Excuse me, sir, but is anything the matter with the lady?"

"No, no," Quentin said nervously, "Everything's fine. Right, Amanda?"

"No!" Amanda wailed.

The waiter glared at Quentin, then turned his attention toward the supposed lady in distress. "What's the matter, ma'am? Is he bothering you?" Amanda shook her head as she dried her tears. "Well, then, what's the matter?" the waiter asked perplexedly.

"I'm fat!" Amanda said as she started to cry again.

The waiter looked very disgruntled as he left their table without a word. Quentin scoffed, and said, "Amanda, please. You're not fat, okay? The baby's just visible when you stand up." Quentin speech sent Amanda on another tirade of tears. Finally exhausted of all his patience, he yelled, "Amanda, stop it!" Amanda was startled out of her cries of anguish as she looked at his husband in awe. "You're not fat, you're not ugly; you're the same!" Quentin continued. "You're causing everyone grief when you're like this! Do you want to lose the baby?!"

"No!" Amanda cried, her tone inferring that she had been insulted.

"Then stop blubbering about how you're getting fat!" Quentin shouted. "It's a fact of life! If you want the baby, you have to abide by the rules!"

The same waiter came back, an irritated expression on his face. "I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to stop yelling. The patrons are complaining."

Quentin looked at the waiter with marked irritation, and resumed his menu. The waiter walked away, and Amanda looked at her husband as though almost afraid of him. "Did you mean it?" she asked quietly.

"Did I mean what?" Quentin asked absently.

"That I am still beautiful," Amanda said, her gaze lowered.

Quentin looked over at his wife with tenderness in his eyes. "Of course, Amanda. You'll always be beautiful with me; even more so when you're carrying our child." He coughed and returned to his menu, saying, "Yes, I think I'll have the manicotti."

Amanda smiled, and laid her menu down, as confident and as sweet as before.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three – Year Number Four

Amanda sat at her bedroom window, looking out at the cold, barren forest. There didn't seem to be any sign of life outside Collinwood, and she couldn't blame anyone for wanting to stay at home and keep warm.

Januaries in Maine were never pleasant, but now that she had to survive one while pregnant – well, she thought she'd never get warm. However, she seemed to be feeling better all around. Her back still ached every once in a while, and her legs still cramped up, but she'd gotten over her dizziness and morning sickness.

Looking down at her protruding stomach, she rubbed her belly. Ever since December, she'd been feeling the baby kick. Smiling and still rubbing her stomach, she glanced once more out into the lonely-looking landscape before rising from her seat on the window ledge.

She walked over to the door, intending to leave the room, but instead Quentin walked in, carrying something behind his back. Amanda stared at his face, and found he wore a secretive smile. A smile grew on her lips, too, as she said, "What's behind your back?"

"Oh, something," he said mysteriously, looking up at the ceiling. He smiled, his face full of mirth, as he bent down and kissed her cheek. "Happy fourth anniversary," he said, "I've loved every minute of it."

Amanda smiled hugely, and said, "I got you something."

"I should hope so," Quentin said jokingly, "Because I got you this." He produced a gift-wrapped box.

She took it in her hands, and started opening it. What was concealed inside the box was a silver creamer. Amanda smiled devilishly as she said, "Thank you, Quentin, but don't we need a house of our own to go with it?"

"Amanda," Quentin said, putting his hands on her shoulders, "We're Collinses. We stay at Collinwood."

"I thought the only reason we were living here was because you wanted to see Jamison," Amanda said, her face dropping.

"Isn't that reason enough?" Quentin asked.

Amanda stuck out her bottom lip in a pouting manner. "You tell me," she said, walking over to her nightstand to retrieve a piece of paper. She put it in his hand, and said, "Read it." Quentin shrugged and started reading the paper. His expression changed – an expression so different that not even Amanda could read it. "Well?" she asked on tenterhooks.

Quentin looked up from the paper, and said, "You bought me a house?"

"I bought us a house," Amanda said. She knew he would never accept it, but she wanted a home of their own where they could be a happy family together. "I want to be a part of a Collins family separate from Jamison's."

Quentin's face changed to one of concern as he asked, "Amanda, aren't you happy here?"

"I've never been happy here!" Amanda shouted, relieved that she didn't have to pretend anymore, "All Collinwood holds for me is unhappy memories. Memories of Reverend Trask and Charles Delaware Tate." She cupped his face in her hands. "Memories of the night I left Collinsport, thinking that you didn't love me anymore."

"Amanda," Quentin said, kissing her on her lips, "I loved you then. I love you now. I just think that Collinwood would be the best place for us – and Jamison."

"Why?" she asked sullenly.

"He has a playmate here," Quentin reasoned, "We have a home where we can-."

"Mooch off our relatives," Amanda finished in a frank voice, "That is what you were going to say, weren't you?" Quentin was about to reply, but Amanda cut him off. "Oh, I know you would have said it nicer. And I know how close you and Jamison are. But can't you visit him if we have our own house?"

"Hasn't it been nice living here?" Quentin asked in a persuasive voice. "I don't have to work, so I can devote all my time to you. Hasn't that been comforting? Huh?" Amanda nodded reluctantly, and Quentin laughed kindly. "Can't we move in after the baby is born?"

"I suppose, but-."

"Then it's settled," Quentin interrupted, "When our child is born, we'll move into the house. All right?"

Amanda smiled, and said, "All right."

Quentin smiled fondly at her, and looked into her pretty brown eyes. A shiver went up and down his whole being as he realized that all of his dreams had come true, one by one. Feeling the everlasting love that he had endured so many decades, he leaned down and kissed Amanda passionately. Amanda responded, reaching up and pulling his mouth closer her hers. In the passion of the moment, Quentin reached down and put his hand on Amanda's belly. Pulling his mouth away, he said, "I hope it's a girl – so she can be exactly like you." Just at that moment, they both felt the baby kick. Quentin looked at Amanda amazedly, and kneeled down to put his ear over her stomach. Laughing, he said, "I can hear it's heartbeat!"

Amanda cried tears of joy as she stood her husband back up. "Whatever it is, boy or girl, it'll be perfect." She pulled his head closer to her again, and kissed him deeply. Bringing him closer, she knew that, child or no child, she had to have him near her tonight.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four – Birthday Picnic

Quentin was sleeping soundly in the bed he and Amanda shared at Collinwood; however, Amanda was not as dormant. Since she couldn't sleep because of the enormity of her stomach and the growing pressure on her rib cage, she decided to get up early, and set the preparations for Quentin's birthday.

Stealthily, she grabbed her robe and sneaked out of their room. Tip-toeing all the way, she reached the kitchen where Shondra and Elizabeth had baked a cake. Elizabeth had a birthday in February, too, but hers had already passed – now she was helping her mother with the baking. "It looks pretty, doesn't it, Amanda?" Elizabeth beamed.

"Yes, Lizzie," Amanda smiled. She sighed as she glanced at the pile of presents they had to take down. To Shondra and Elizabeth, she asked, "When are you leaving for the beach?"

"We're ready to go now," Shondra smiled.

Amanda nodded, mulling over what had to be done. "Well, you guys can pack up and go. I'll convince Quentin to come and take a walk with Jamison and me."

"Amanda, you can hardly move," Shondra said incredulously, "How will he be able to take you seriously?"

"I can be very stubborn," Amanda admitted through tense lips, "He won't think anything is wrong with me."

"Okay," Shondra said resignedly, "Jamison, Lizzie, and I will meet you out on the beach."

"How far is the site from the road?" Amanda asked tentatively. She unconsciously placed a hand over her stomach. Shondra was right: movement had been difficult for her, and balance seemed almost impossible. Still, she couldn't help thinking that when Jamison was at this stage, he hadn't been as big. She smiled at the thought that this might be a sign she's having a girl.

"Amanda?" Shondra asked.

"Yes?" Amanda said, blushing because she knew she'd zoned out through the conversation.

"I said that it's not far," Shondra said, a concerned look in her eye, "Are you sure you don't want to drive down with Jamison?"

"I'm sure," Amanda said, smiling confidently even though she was unsure of her capabilities herself. Looking longingly at the cake, she asked, "What flavor is it?"

"German chocolate," Elizabeth piped up.

Amanda smiled as her stomach rumbled. Patting her stomach, she sighed and said, "I'll see you there."

Shondra and Elizabeth smiled and took the cake out to the car. After staring a while at the door through which the delicious-looking pastry left, she turned around and headed back upstairs to Quentin's room.

He was still sleeping – Amanda still remembered how wonderful it felt to be able to sleep. Suddenly angry at her husband, she shook the bed fiercely and said, "Get up."

Quentin started awake, and, rubbing his eyes, said, "It's still dark."

"Not for long," Amanda said sharply.

"Amanda, what's wrong?" Quentin asked, a concerned look in his eye.

"You can sleep and I can't," Amanda said tersely.

"Well, look," Quentin said, rising from the bed, "You lay down here – on any side you want – and tell me what I can do to make you comfortable."

Her eyes nearly betrayed her for a moment, but she composed herself and said, "It's too late now – I'm awake."

Quentin sighed and hugged his wife. "Soon, honey; soon, we'll have our child."

Amanda smiled against his pajama sleeve. Suddenly, she remarked, "I want to walk to the beach."

Quentin furrowed his brow and pulled away from her just to see if she was joking. "Now?" he asked. "In the middle of the night?"

"It is not," Amanda said exasperatedly. She walked over and opened the curtain. The sun was rising, and the sky was turning pink, purple, and whit in front of their eyes. "It's six o'clock."

"You want to walk along the beach at six o'clock?" Quentin asked unbelievingly. "Can you even walk?"

"Of course I can, Quentin!" Amanda shouted, her anger getting the better of her. Calming herself down, she added, "Let's take Jamison."

"The child's asleep," Quentin said sternly, "I'll go with you, but Jamison stays."

"There's no one here to watch him!" Amanda blurted, before covering her hand with her mouth.

"Oh?" Quentin asked with piqued interest. Walking over to her, he said amusedly, "So Jamison, Shondra, and Elizabeth just wandered off at midnight. Or did they disappear into a rabbit hole like in that story you tell Jamison?"

"Don't, Quentin," Amanda pleaded, "Jamison went to work, and Shondra and Elizabeth thought they'd go shopping in Bangor."

"And when did they leave?" Quentin interrogated.

"About a half an hour ago," Amanda lied.

"And you figure since everyone's out of the house, you must be, too," Quentin smirked. Amanda gazed downward as tears filled her eyes. "All right, I'll go," Quentin said irritably, "Just let me get dressed. You can wake Jamison."

"Thank you, Quentin," Amanda smiled, pecking him on the cheek before rushing to her son's room.

* * *

The wind bustled Amanda's hat as the three of them walked down to the beach. She had cut her hair recently, re-instating the flapper hair-do that she wore so long ago. Jamison was between the two of them, holding both their hands. Once in a while, Quentin would lift up his end so Jamison wouldn't touch the ground, and the result was a squeal of delight from his son. Amanda smiled; she had never kept a secret from Quentin since they were married. He'd always been so against secrets – yet he had the most that she had ever known.

Her brow furrowed in thought. She remembered saying that to Timothy Shaw when they reached Collinwood. She'd liked him, but he loved her. After she met Quentin, she knew that Tim wasn't the one for her. Even stranger, she decided to give her son the middle name Timothy, and she didn't know why. Perhaps, deep in the back of her mind, she still cared for him. She even wondered where he was at that very moment.

Another squeal from her son interrupted her thoughts as she waddled forward. Looking at Quentin, her thoughts of Tim passed. If she did care for him, it was because he did treat her well, and he was concerned about her; she just cared for him as a friend, that's all.

"There's the beach!" Jamison exclaimed, letting go of Amanda's hand so he could point the ocean out to his parents.

"Yes, my boy," Quentin smiled, "The briny deep. The salty sea."

Amanda laughed while Jamison looked confusedly at his father. "It's the beach."

Quentin laughed and ruffled his son's dark hair. "I know, Jamison."

Amanda's excitement peaked as they walked along the sandy shore. She cast an eye for the Collins family that had graciously prepared for her husband's birthday when she could not; suddenly, she saw a lock of back hair flying in the breeze. "Oh, look, Quentin, over here!" She waddled as fast as she could toward the rock that hid Jamison, Sr. and his family.

Confused, Quentin followed behind, as did Jamison. As soon as Quentin was close enough, the Collins family shouted, "Surprise!"

Quentin was startled for a moment, then started laughing. Amanda came over to him and said, "Happy birthday, darling," before she kissed him. "I hope you don't mind."

"Mind?" Quentin smiled, wrapping his arms around his wife. "Never."

"Uncle Quentin!" Jamison shouted, waving him over. "C'mon, cut the cake!"

Quentin and Amanda shared a look before Quentin said, "You want that cake, don't you?"

"Yes, please," Amanda smiled, laughter in her eyes.

Quentin patted her on the back while they made their way to the makeshift table that contained a certain chocolate cake which had upon it the words, "Happy Birthday Quentin!"


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five – The Last Few Yards

Amanda lay in bed. Even though it was two o'clock in the afternoon, her back ached, and it cost a lot of energy to move around. From her position in bed, she could not see past her huge stomach that now protruded greatly. She rubbed it, and in response the fetus kicked. Patting it, she murmured, "Soon, honey; you'll get out soon."

Not soon enough for me, Amanda thought. Of course she loved the baby, and she knew the joy she would have when she would hold it for the first time in her arms, but Amanda was an active woman, and being cooped up all day in bed for the past week was starting to get to her.

Sighing, she heaved her body sideways so she could grab a length of cloth and pull down on it. Whenever any servant heard the ring coming from her room, they knew to alert Quentin that she needed something.

Sure enough, the bedroom door opened, and Quentin ran into the room. "What do you need?" he panted.

"Company," Amanda said sorrowfully.

Quentin smiled kindly and sat down next to Amanda. "It's not fun, is it?" Quentin said, patting her hand which was atop her stomach.

Amanda shook her head. "Quentin, I'm happy we're having a baby, but nine months is a little too much," Amanda complained.

"I know," Quentin said, trying to sympathize.

"No, you don't," Amanda said, flashing her eyes at him, "You don't know the half of it – carrying it around isn't half as bad as labor."

"But it's worth it, isn't it?" Quentin said, raising his eyebrows.

Amanda sighed as she gave in. "Yes," she admitted.

She tried to sit up in bed, but her arms were too weak to support the majority weight of the baby. Quentin helped her by pulling her upright, and supporting her back with pillows. "Comfortable?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," Amanda said, smiling sadly. She knew how strong she had been before the pregnancy, and to think that she needed constant bed rest – well, it irritated her a little. Suddenly, a common urge summoned her. "Quentin?" she asked timidly.

"Yes?" Quentin smiled.

"I need to get up," she said quietly.

"Why?" Quentin asked, immediately suspicious.

"I have to pee," she said, hiding her face so he couldn't see her embarrassment.

Quentin pulled her to her feet, and gave her something to lean on as she waddled her way down the hall to the bathroom.

* * *

Amanda returned to her bed and finally got some sleep that wasn't interrupted by babies kicking or bladders yearning. However, after two hours of blissful rest, she woke up to find two children staring intently at her. Her husband stood a few feet away, and as soon as her eyes fluttered open, he explained, "They wanted to see you. I couldn't stop them. We didn't disturb you, did we?"

"No, of course not," Amanda said, now in a much better mood since her nap, "What is it, Jamison?"

"'Lizabeth thinks you having a girl," he said frankly, "I tell her you not having a girl – you having a boy."

"She is too having a girl!" Elizabeth yelled.

"An' how do you know?" Jamison asked, his voice also loud.

"Honey, please," Amanda said, a hand moving to her forehead, "Mommy's got a terrible headache." The two children fell silent, now looking to her for the settlement of the argument. "I don't know if it's a boy or a girl," she said honestly, "I won't know until the time comes."

"When's that?" Jamison asked.

"In another month; possibly less," she replied.

"Oh," Jamison said, walking out of the room with Elizabeth right behind him.

Quentin, however, stayed and sat on his side of the bed. "I wonder if this was how it started with Judith and me," Quentin smirked, "Her disappointment since I wasn't the sister she had ordered."

"It must have been tough for her," Amanda said sympathetically, "Being the only girl."

"Yes, and she never wanted to play games like the rest of us," Quentin remarked, "Except mind games, of course."

Amanda nodded, rubbing her belly as the baby kicked again. "Whatever it is, it's kicking more and more each day."

"That's a good sign!" Quentin exclaimed, laying a hand on her stomach as well. Just then, he put two hands over her belly, and, with eyes closed, faced the ceiling as if he were a fortune teller reading a crystal ball. "Oh, great one, are you Charles or Amanda? Kick once for boy, twice for girl," he said in a deep, mocking voice.

Since the baby did not kick at all, he broke character, and laughed with Amanda. "You goof," she said, "I don't know how I ever fell in love with you – but I did."

Quentin smiled and leaned forward to kiss her since she could not move very well from her spot in bed. Smiling as their lips parted, he said, "I love you, too, Amanda."

She reached up and gently brought his head back down toward hers as they kissed for what seemed like hours.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six – The Doctors Come Marching In

Amanda lay in bed, anticipating the doctors. Quentin had ridden into town to fetch them – there was no such thing as a hospital in Collinsport at this point in time.

Her face scrunched up in pain as she felt another contraction. At least her labor pains hadn't started at night, like when she had Jamison – instead, they came at two o'clock in the afternoon.

Even through all the pain Amanda was going through at that moment, she knew that she was finally going to liberate the baby from the containment of her body, and she would hold whatever her baby was to be in her arms for the first time. A smile crossed her lips when she realized that her baby's birthday would be only four days after hers; she hoped Quentin wouldn't break the bank buying them a present.

Shondra was there in the room with her, wiping Amanda's brow as she sweated in exhaustion and anticipation. Shondra was like her – had gone through pregnancy, but only once. She couldn't imagine having a second child – she was perfectly happy with Elizabeth. Amanda and Quentin knew, however, that in six years, she would have a boy with blond hair and blue eyes, and she would call him Roger.

Quentin entered the room suddenly, two doctors and a midwife following him only half a beat behind. As soon as the doctors took over the situation, Quentin immediately sat by Amanda's side, and held her hand; Amanda, however, didn't just hold it – she held it in a vice-like grip. "It's going to be okay," Quentin said soothingly as he brushed her hair out of her eyes, "We've been through this before; you're both going to make it. Everything's going to be okay."

Amanda felt another contraction, and one of the doctors yelled, "Push, Mrs. Collins!" Pushing with all her might, she screamed as the pain became even more unbearable.

Labor went on for five hours longer; Amanda had cut it close telling Quentin about her contractions. Finally, Amanda gave a push that might drain her of all her energy and the baby slowly emerged and escaped the confines of Amanda's belly. The baby cried energetically while the midwife washed the baby of the red fluid; then, she came over to the happy parents, and presented them with their child.

It was a girl – Amanda Julia Collins. She had brown hair and brown eyes like Amanda. The midwife wrapped the baby girl in a blanket before giving her to her mother. "Oh, Quentin," Amanda said breathlessly, "Look at her!" She turned and stared into Quentin's eyes which were full of amazement. "She's perfect!"

"Little Amanda," Quentin said, touching one little hand with a single finger. He turned and kissed Amanda on the cheek and stood. "I'm going to bring Jamison in."

Amanda nodded as Shondra righted the covers. In a matter of minutes, Quentin brought Jamison in to see his baby sister. Of course, Quentin hadn't told him it would be a girl; he thought that Jamison should love his sibling without any pretenses. Jamison came closer to his mother, who held Amanda in her arms. He cautiously pulled back her little baby blanket so he could see her face clearly. "Say hello to your sister, Jamison," Amanda whispered.

Jamison, at that moment, was too awe-struck to say much of anything. He let out an amazed, "She beautiful!" and held out in index finger, which Amanda Jr. grabbed hold of and let go several times.

"We called her Amanda," Amanda told her son.

Quentin coughed in the background, and said, "Amanda, Jamison." They both looked at the happy father, who had just got a brilliant idea. "Why don't we call her Mandy?" Quentin suggested. "That way there'll be no confusion as to who I'm talking to or about."

"What do you think Jamison?" Amanda asked her son. Since he was the one who procured the name, she felt he had to decide if Mandy was acceptable.

Jamison nodded. One of the doctors came over, and told Amanda, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Collins, but we have to check the baby's vital signs and see if there are possible complications to her health."

Amanda nodded and reluctantly handed over her baby. Quentin held her hand, and said, "Don't worry Amanda. I'm sure the baby's healthy."

However, the doctors' voices became low and grave; the midwife came over to Amanda's bedside to break the news. "Mrs. Collins?" she said timidly.

"Yes?" Amanda said. All of a sudden, a worried expression crossed her face. Mandy must be all right, she thought, she has to be – mustn't she?

"We'll have to take your child to a hospital in Bangor," the midwife said as Amanda covered her mouth in terror, "There's a chance that she might have anemia."

"How do you know?" Quentin said forcefully.

"She looks very pale, and she has some difficulty breathing," she said as calmly as she could – she always hated having to break bad news.

"This never happened with Jamison," Amanda said.

"This usually occurs with second-time mothers and beyond," was the response.

Quentin and Amanda looked at each other, and shared a glance of sadness. "Do what you have to," Quentin said, "Try and keep her alive."

"The doctors will do their best," the midwife said confidently.

Soon the doctors left with their baby, and Quentin went with them, just make sure that his daughter was going to be all right. Amanda, however, was too weak to move, and as soon as Shondra took Jamison out of her room, she succumbed to tears of fright, anguish, and rage.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven – Expect the Unexpected

Two days after Mandy's abrupt departure from Collinwood, Quentin and Amanda received a call saying that their precious baby girl was perfectly fine, although in the future she may develop some difficulties. Just grateful that their daughter was alive, they went and picked her up from the doctor's.

As Quentin drove up the driveway of Collinwood, Mandy immediately started crying. A concerned look on her face, Amanda started bouncing the baby, trying to quiet her cries; however, Mandy was stubborn, and her cute face became redder and redder as the intensity and volume increased with each passing second.

"What's wrong?" Quentin asked worriedly.

"She's just fussy," Amanda said, trying to quell her own fears. She'd been through this with Jamison; he, however, was not as temperamental. Amanda sighed as she realized that a girl would be fussier than a boy – they have so many more emotions!

Amanda tried to stifle a giggle, but Quentin heard. Unaware of the humor in their baby crying, he asked, "What's so funny?"

"Get used to it, Quentin," Amanda said laughingly, "Mandy's going to be quite the drama queen."

Quentin smirked. "Just like her mother," he said as he kissed his wife's forehead, "Let's get her into the house."

Amanda climbed out of the truck and slammed the door. "Did Shondra say where Mandy's room was?" Amanda asked.

"No," Quentin said thoughtfully, "Maybe she thinks we'll put her in with Jamison."

"Oh," Amanda said, "Do you think Jamison will mind?"

"Look," Quentin said as they started walking towards the forbidding mansion, "If Mandy doesn't have her own room, we'll put her in with us."

Amanda smiled, and, with her free hand, grabbed his. "Of course," she said as Mandy wailed once more. "I can't wait to get her up to her room," Amanda said, "The wind is probably making her more irritated."

"My irritable girls," Quentin joked as he laid his hands on Amanda's shoulders thereby allowing her to walk ahead of him.

Amanda's child-like laugh pierced the roar of the wind. "That's what you get for loving me," Amanda giggled.

Quentin bent down and placed a kiss on Amanda's cheek. "I knew it was too good to be true," Quentin laughed.

Soon, they reached the front door, and opened it to be greeted with silence. Quentin looked at Amanda and shrugged, heading towards the Drawing Room. Opening the double doors, he found no one there, either. "Did they go out?" Amanda asked.

"Without telling us, and with our son?" Quentin replied incredulously. "I hope not."

Another squall from Mandy vibrates off the ancient walls. "Maybe we'd better take Mandy upstairs," Amanda said as she clutched her baby tighter to her breast.

Quentin slung an arm around Amanda's shoulders as they climbed the stairway together. Entering their own room, they found an incredible surprise waiting for them. From the ceiling hung a bowed ribbon saying, "Welcome Back, Mandy!" as well as confetti being thrown by all participants. Everyone in the house was there (excluding the servants). What was more the surprise for Quentin was seeing his aged brother, Edward, sitting in a wheelchair, smiling proudly at his baby niece. Also there was Nora and her husband. In the midst of everything, though, Mandy felt even more uncomfortable, and started crying louder. Over the ruckus, Shondra shouted, "I'll take you to Mandy's room!"

"Ho-ho," Quentin said with raised eyebrows, "A room for Mandy. Who's is it – or should I say who's was it?"

"Just follow me," Shondra said with a mischievous smile.

She led the tiny family out of the room. Before they proceeded down the hall, Amanda felt a tiny tug on her skirt. Looking down, she saw her son with an anxious smile on his face. "Can me an' Gray Spots come, too?"

"Of course, darling," Amanda said warmly.

They walked down a hallway that Quentin knew was quite familiar. As soon as they stopped at the door to his daughter's bedroom, he knew that her new room would be Jamison's old one. However, when Shondra opened the door, the room was completely transformed. The walls were painted beautifully, black with silver sparkles everywhere, like the night sky. Amanda walked into the nursery absolutely awe-stricken. A crib lay in the very center, and a rocking chair sat not far away. Amanda absent-mindedly soothingly patted her daughter until Mandy's cries quieted and the little baby began to look around this foreign room. Amanda placed her daughter in the crib and fingered the baby books stacked so neatly on a tiny bookcase against a wall. "When did you do this?" she finally asked.

"The last couple weeks," Shondra said, her face brimming with happiness, "We just knew this would surprise you."

"Me helped, Mama," Jamison said proudly.

"You did wonderfully, darling," Amanda said as she knelt by her little boy and hugged him, "Mama loves you so much for doing this, Jamsey. Mandy loves you, too."

Smiling ear-to-ear, Jamison walked over to his baby sister, and said, "Hello, Mandy."

Mandy's eyes were still fixed on the stars, but she made a subtle movement – an indication that she knew she was being addressed. Quentin clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, and said, "Jamison, she's too little to understand you."

"Oh," Jamison said, his brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, his expression brightened as he said, "But she can still hear me?"

"Yeah," Quentin said.

Grinning, Jamison held Gray Spots out, and said, "This is Gray Spots, my bestest friend ever. I have him for the longest time." Mandy rolled over so she was facing her brother, and stared curiously at the small animal. Babbling softly, she situated herself so she was facing the night sky again. Jamison faced his parents, and said, "She look at Gray Spots, Mama!"

"I know, sweetie," Amanda smiled.

Jamison happily ran out of the room – probably in search of Elizabeth. Quentin snaked an arm around Amanda's waist, and pulled her to him as they both stared at the nursery in wonder. Shondra, knowing when couples wanted to be alone, left silently. The happy parents didn't say much as they took in their daughter's marvelous nursery – they just couldn't believe it.

* * *

Quentin and Amanda lay sleeping side by side in their soft bed. Mandy's first night was troublesome for them since her nursery was in a separate hallway, but Amanda had a keen mother's intuition that recognized whenever her baby girl was crying.

However, both baby and parents were sleeping – sleeping so they didn't know what was occurring in their own room, for as they slept, a silvery cloud appeared in a corner of their room. Out of the cloud came a ghost of a woman – a governess which worked in Collinwood in 1897. Her dress was blood-stained, and her expression one of unequaled sadness. She stared at the couple sorrowfully. Jealous? No, she wasn't jealous; just because Quentin had taken a liking to her did not mean that she had responded. Envious? Perhaps. They had just had a baby, something that Rachel wanted more than anything – a child she could teach to be upstanding and forgiving – and perhaps a little romantic, like herself.

Slowly, she walked over to Amanda's side of the bed, and stared down at her. She began to talk, but her voice was one of wistfulness and echo – like she wasn't even in the same room with them. "You have a family," she said, "You can take care of it."

Without further words, her hand moved towards her stomach, and entered it, pulling out what looked like a silvery bead, and she placed it in Amanda's stomach. "I love you," she said as the light of the bead slowly dissipated into Amanda's skin. Without a cry, without a tear, Rachel went back into her corner, and disappeared from sight. Nobody saw her, and nobody would – but the bead would prove to be quite visible.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight – Centuries Ahead

Just as promised, Quentin, Amanda, Jamison, and Mandy moved out of Collinwood once Amanda started feeling better. It turned out that the house Amanda had bought Quentin for their anniversary was exactly the same one they had built in 1652. They laughed as they moved back into their own house, reliving old memories. Amanda, of course, couldn't do much working since she had Mandy to take care of, so she let the men of the house unload all their belongings.

They were well moved in by evening, and the foursome had a home-cooked meal that didn't require a maid or a cook – just Amanda. At the dinner table, Jamison said, "Mama, will me ever see 'Lizbeth again?"

"Of course, sweetie," Amanda said soothingly, "You can see all your little friends; we'll just live in a different house."

"'Kay," Jamison said as he attacked his dinner once more.

Quentin looked over at Amanda, who was picking at her dinner without any interest. It wasn't that she looked sick, but she was slightly pale, and she had a concerned look cross her face once or twice during dinner. Quentin reached over and covered her hand, saying, "Amanda, is anything wrong?"

"Nothing," Amanda said, giving him a false smile.

Quentin creased his brow, and said, "You can tell me."

Amanda glanced sideways at Jamison, who was too concerned with his food to follow their trivial conversation. "Well," Amanda whispered, "I – I've gone another month without it, and he doctor said I should be having them regular again."

"Gone without what?" Quentin asked, confused.

"It," Amanda said simply, explaining it to him with her eyes.

"Oh," Quentin said as he was deep in thought, "Well, why isn't it returning like before?"

"I don't know," Amanda said in a semi-panicky voice. Hesitating, she bit her lip, and said, "It wasn't like this with Jamison. It returned the month after."

Amanda and Quentin shared a worried look. Quentin's face finally relaxed, though, when he remembered something. "We haven't been that close since Mandy was born," he said reassuringly, "So I wouldn't worry."

Amanda smiled at him, and finished the rest of her dinner.

After dinner, the four sat in the living room, happy to be in a house of their own. Absent-mindedly, Amanda asked, "Do you think the staircase will come again?"

"No, Mama!" Jamison cried, sadness in his blue eyes.

Amanda furrowed her brow, and asked, "Why, honey? Wouldn't you like to go back home again?"

"Bad lady at home," Jamison said sullenly.

"No, honey, you've got it all wrong," Amanda laughed, "Do you even remember where we lived before? With Auntie Carolyn and Hallie?"

A thoughtful look passed over Jamison's face as he responded. "Kind of," he said.

"Well, if the staircase appears again, maybe we can get back to them. Right, Quentin?" Amanda said.

Quentin's face turned unreadable as he stared at Jamison's room, then looked at his wife. "Maybe," he said.

Amanda, very confused, turned back to her baby who looked at her with big brown eyes. A clatter in the nursery caused alarm, and both parents sprung up and ran to the room. In Mandy's new nursery stood the very staircase they were discussing. Jamison came up behind them and smiled, saying, "Me go get Gray Spots."

Amanda grinned at Quentin, saying, "This is it! We may get back to 1972."

"And explain how we had another kid in one day?" Quentin smirked.

"We could say she was adopted," Amanda suggested. Quentin turned away from her and stared at the wall. "There's another reason you want to stay, isn't there?" she pressed. Quentin nodded, and Amanda said, "Jamison."

"He's finally accepted me," Quentin said softly.

Amanda laid a hand on his shoulder, and said, "Leave him a note. He'll understand. Tell him you might come back someday."

Quentin looked at her, then left the room and scrawled an apologetic note. It was hard for him to be hopeful when they haven't been home in two and a half years. He returned to find Jamison ever eager with Gray Spots. "Okay," Quentin said resignedly, "Let's go."

Quentin climbed the stairs first, followed by Amanda, Mandy, and Jamison. They reached the door, and entered another time.

As they descended the stairs, Quentin could tell it wasn't 1972; he couldn't explain that feeling, but he knew they had missed their rightful time again. Amanda and Jamison looked around the room that was so different from Mandy's nursery. Amanda turned to her husband, and said, "What year is it?"

Quentin shook his head and said, "I don't know."

He looked around the room for a calendar, but there was none. They walked downstairs and found no one. Amanda said, "Should we search their closet?"

Quentin nodded. They both entered the master bedroom, and opened the closet. Amanda pulled out a pair of denim jeans and handed them to Quentin. "Men's clothes," she said absently.

Quentin looked at the tag to see the size, and remarked, "It says women's."

"What?" Amanda said with a questioning look. She, too, looked at the tag and laughed. "That's right; in 1972 women were starting to wear jeans."

"Maybe you should," Quentin thought aloud.

"Why?" Amanda laughed. "I thought it was the most ridiculous fashion."

"Look in the closet," Quentin said, "This woman doesn't seem to have any dresses or skirts."

"Oh," Amanda said as her face fell. She put on the jeans as she searched for a shirt. She pulled out a white one, and said, "This might look good with jeans." Quentin shrugged as he searched for clothes of his own. She quickly removed her dress and pulled the long-sleeved shirt over her head. The collar fell around her shoulders. "Quentin, I think there's something wrong with this shirt," she said, "Look how big the collar is."

"Might be the fashion," Quentin said absently.

"What?" Amanda said in a panicked voice. "You don't think we're in 1972, do you?"

Quentin shook his head s he, too, grabbed clothes – men's clothes: jeans with metal chains on them, a white shirt with a collar, and a strange-looking black jacket. "When have you seen clothes like these in 1972?"

Amanda raised a hand to her mouth as she scrambled to find a calendar. She found one on the kitchen wall that said, "June, 2002". Amanda screamed, and Quentin rushed over, struggling to zip up his jeans. "Quentin, we're in the future!" Amanda exclaimed.

Quentin buttoned his shirt absent-mindedly as his mind absorbed the shock. "Amanda, I can't believe it."

"Oh, Quentin, let's get out of here," Amanda said.

"Maybe the stairway is still intact," Quentin said more to himself than anyone else. All of them ascend the stairs to find an empty nursery. "Damn," Quentin said.

"Oh, Quentin, why did we have to come here?" Amanda cried. "I'm sorry I made you leave."

"There's a lesson for you," Quentin said smilingly, "I'm always right."

They both looked at each other before breaking out into episodes of laughter. "I guess we should hurry up and get the children dressed before the owners come home," Amanda said finally.

"Good idea," Quentin said as they both walked downstairs once more to find more clothes.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine – Differences

Quentin knocked on the door of Collinwood, and soon thereafter a man who looked about forty-seven opened the door. The man's eyes did not conceal surprise as he said, "Jamison Douglas! I haven't seen you in years!"

The man shook Quentin's hand, as Quentin (quite confusedly) said, "Thank you. Um, who . . ."

"I'm David! David Collins!" the man exclaimed enthusiastically. "You probably don't remember me – you guys left town when you were only two."

"Yeah, I hardly remember much about Collinsport," Quentin lied.

"You look so much like your father," David marveled. Looking at Amanda, he said, "You can't be Jamison's mother."

"I – I'm not," Amanda lied, "I know, Olivia and I look so much alike. My name's Jayme Douglas."

David looked down at the ground, and saw the real Jamison. "Your line is very persistent," David said, "What's his name?"

"Jamison Junior," Quentin said.

David looked at Amanda's shoulder, and said, "You have a little girl, too?"

"Yes," Amanda said, "Her name's Mandy."

"Oh," David said knowingly, "Wasn't Olivia's grandmother named Amanda?"

"Yes," Amanda said forcefully, "She insisted we use the name."

"We just wanted to see if any residents are still around," Quentin said.

"Oh, come in," David said as he opened the door wider. The little family entered the mansion, and, looking around, noticed that it really hadn't changed much. David led the way into the Drawing Room, which was now furnished with a television set and a strange-looking object on the writing desk. "Please, sit down," David said as he motioned to the couch.

Instead, Quentin walked over to the boxy object, and said, "What's that?"

"I know," David laughed, "It's an old model – one of the first. We've never been able to keep up with technology." Quentin still looked at David in confusion. David finally answered his question: "It's a computer."

"Oh," Quentin said as he sat down. When they left 1972, computers filled the whole room – now, they could be placed discretely in a corner. "Do you use it for business?" Quentin asked.

"Business, pleasure – it can do anything," David said, "How long have you been married, Jamison?"

Quentin grabbed Amanda's free hand. "Four years."

"Wow," David laughed, "That's a long time. I don't know if you remember Hallie, but we were married a year after you were born. It's been thirty years now, and we still love each other."

Quentin and Amanda smiled awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Just then, a beautiful woman with black hair and shining green eyes entered the Drawing Room. She glanced at the inhabitants, and gave a shy smile. "We're back, Daddy," Victoria said.

"All right," David said, "Send your mother in – you can stay, too. We have company."

Victoria left for a moment, and returned with a middle-aged woman with long blond hair and bright blue eyes. "Oh!" the woman exclaimed. "Jamison!" She ran over to Quentin and hugged him. Laughing, she said, "You probably don't remember me – I baby-sat you for a while before I had Victoria."

"Hallie!" Amanda exclaimed.

Perplexed, Hallie looked at her in disbelief. "Mrs. Douglas?"

"Jayme Douglas," Amanda corrected, "Jamison's wife."

"Oh," Hallie said with an uncertain smile, "Nice to meet you."

Amanda shook her hand. "Olivia described you perfectly."

"Did she?" Hallie said with a shy smile. "Why did she and Grant leave right after the Christmas party?"

"I don't know," Amanda lied as she turned to Quentin, "Honey?"

On the spot, Quentin said, "They never talk about it."

"Oh," Hallie said disappointedly. She brightened as she added, "You have to stay for dinner. I don't know if you knew Mrs. Johnson's son, but Harry is a wonderful cook – he says he's making a fiesta salad tonight."

Just then, a wave of nausea hit Amanda. Covering her mouth, she put Mandy in Quentin's lap, and asked, "Where's your restroom?"

"Upstairs corridor, third door on the left," David said concernedly.

Amanda rushed upstairs were she proceeded to be sick. After a few minutes, Quentin knocked on the door and said, "Jayme, are you all right?"

"I don't know!" Amanda cried, clutching the toilet seat. "I think I should go to a doctor!"

"I'm on it," Quentin said. He walked downstairs and dialed 911.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter Forty – Perplexing

Amanda passed out at Collinwood, and awoke in the Collinsport Hospital. Blurry-eyed, her eyes soon focused on Quentin, who was seated beside her and holding her hand. She hadn't the energy to talk, so she settled her head on her pillows, and closed her eyes again to stop the room from spinning. Her stomach wasn't well yet, but it seemed like the worst of her affliction had passed.

Amanda heard the door to her hospital room open and shut. Peeping from underneath her own eyelids, she saw a man in a long lab coat – her doctor. "What happened, doctor?" Quentin asked worriedly.

"Mr. Douglas, I'm afraid your wife has had a miscarriage," the doctor said solemnly.

Amanda's eyes opened quickly as she bolted to a sitting position. Immediately, the effect of the shock wore off and she became dizzy. Quentin lay her back down as she whispered, "It's not possible."

"You're damn right it's not," Quentin said with suppressed anger as he stared at the doctor, "You've made a mistake."

"I assure you, Mr. Douglas, I have not," the doctor said in a calm voice, "You're wife was pregnant, but now she had lost the child. This isn't uncommon – contraceptives are not infallible."

"I'm not saying they are," Quentin explained, "But my wife and I haven't had the need for any since our last child was born."

"Oh," the doctor said as the proverbial light bulb came on over his head. "Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Douglas."

"Obviously you've made a mistake," Quentin said forcefully.

"I am sorry, Mr. Douglas, but I'm afraid I haven't," the doctor continued, "Your wife has had a miscarriage."

"But I just told you it wasn't possible!" Quentin shouted.

"I suggest you ask your wife what is possible and what isn't, Mr. Douglas," the doctor said before checking Amanda's chart and leaving the room.

Quentin sat down, and said slowly, "Did you know you were pregnant, Amanda?"

"No," Amanda said quietly.

"Amanda," Quentin asked hesitantly, "There isn't someone else, is there?"

Amanda looked at her husband, shocked. "There has never been anyone else," she replied, "And I can't believe that you would ever think that."

Quentin slammed his hand down on the armrest of his chair, and walked angrily toward the window. "The doctor isn't lying, Amanda."

"Maybe it only looked like a miscarriage, Quentin," Amanda said, "Maybe he made a mistake."

"Amanda, we are in the year 2002," Quentin said as he turned slowly toward his wife, "Something tells me that they are just a little more technologically advanced, huh?"

"Yes, but people still make mistakes," Amanda said logically.

"Not doctors," Quentin argued, "Not with their advancements." Quentin paused and added, "I'm going to ask you again: have you been seeing someone else?"

"No," Amanda said forcefully. Amanda looked around the room. "Where are Jamison and Mandy?"

"Do you really think they should be here for this?" Quentin asked in a mockingly amused voice.

"Quentin-."

"No, Amanda!" Quentin exploded. "You got pregnant, and the child isn't mine! Who's was it?!"

"I don't know!" Amanda sobbed.

Quentin laughed derisively. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"Quentin, I don't even know how I got pregnant!" Amanda cried.

Quentin's expression changed to concern. He bent over his wife and said, "Do you mean – Amanda do you think someone broke into our room and-."

"I don't know!" Amanda cried as she broke out in sobs again.

Quentin grabbed hold of his wife and held her close to him, saying, "It's gonna be all right. We'll get through this, honey; it's gonna be all right."


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One – Good-bye, Hallie

Quentin and Amanda entered Collinwood once more, and found Hallie putting on her coat. Amanda noticed the suitcases in the hall, and said, "Are you taking a trip, Hallie?"

She jumped, and turned around. Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiled and said, "Oh, it's you. Did they find out what's wrong?"

Amanda nodded and faked a smile. "It seems I was pregnant again; I had a miscarriage."

Hallie's face soon turned sympathetic. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Jayme," Hallie said, laying a comforting hand on Amanda's shoulder, "I've never known the feeling of losing a child, but I know how it feels to lose a close family member." She turned to Quentin and said, "Jamison, do make sure she's okay tonight."

Quentin nodded and placed a protective arm around Amanda's shoulders. "I will," he said sincerely.

"But do tell us – where are you going?" Amanda asked.

Hallie looked down at the ground and bit her lip. "I suppose you'll find out anyhow," Hallie said slowly, "I'm leaving David."

"What?" Amanda exclaimed. "But you two seemed so happy!"

"Yes, for a while we were happy," Hallie explained, "But for the past eight years it's been nothing but misery for me. Vicky's old enough so that I can't stay for her anymore."

"But what has he done?" Amanda asked curiously. "What has David done to make you feel unwanted?"

"The family business!" Hallie vented. "It's all about the family business! 'Sorry, honey, but we can't go out – business.' 'Sorry I missed Vicky's college graduation – business.' I'm so sick of it!"

"You can't blame a man for wanting to take care of his family," Quentin reasoned, "If I were in the same boat, I'd do the same thing. What does Vicky think about this?"

"Quentin-." Amanda began, but was cut off by Hallie.

"Vicky has no say over my happiness," Hallie said sternly.

"But she's your child!" Amanda said incredulously.

Hallie's demeanor changed instantly as she said, "By the way, Jayme, Jamison Jr. and Mandy are in the playroom upstairs."

Amanda looked at Quentin worriedly before climbing the stairs toward her children. Quentin stared at Hallie, the girl he and Amanda had helped when she had no one who wanted her except David. He shook his head and said, "I have to see David."

Hallie nodded and said, "He's in the study."

Quentin entered the study and saw the master of Collinwood, David Collins, drinking glass after glass of scotch. Quentin clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. David looked up with sorrow in his eye and said, "She's leaving."

Quentin nodded. "I know."

David poured himself another drink and said, "Maybe you don't remember her; she used to take care of you. Your parents gave her the opportunity of learning to take care of a child before she had her own." David shook his head as he downed the whole glass. "She's so caring – so kind. And all I could give her was paperwork!" He shoved a pile of papers down onto the floor.

Quentin pulled up a chair and said, "Don't blame yourself. You did your best."

David shook his head as the front door slammed. He looked up at Quentin as a single tear slid down his cheek. "She's gone." He buried his face in his hands as Quentin left the man alone with his sorrows.

That night, Quentin and Amanda headed in the direction of the Old House. Neither David nor Hallie had said anything about Barnabas or Angelique, and they weren't about to ask David in his current condition. Quentin looked at Amanda as he knocked on the front door. No one answered immediately, but they heard someone walking around. The door suddenly opened by itself, and they both hesitantly entered the house. Standing in front of them was Angelique, as beautiful as the day they left in 1972. She smirked and said, "My, my, Quentin – you haven't changed a bit. Always so shocked to witness the obvious. Yes, I am alive, and so is Barnabas."

A puzzled look crossed Quentin's face. "But he was back to normal," Quentin said confusedly, "How could he live this long?"

Angelique dropped her gaze. "Yes, he is alive, and much older than I – or so it appears. His wife died years ago from a mysterious disease."

"But you're his wife," Amanda said nonplussed.

"Yes, my dear," Angelique said, focusing her blue eyes on Amanda, "But I had to die, for how can I be seventy and not look a day older than when I wed him?"

"So you faked it," Quentin said, finally understanding. Angelique nodded, and Quentin turned serious. "Angelique, you have to help us."

"Don't I always?" she teased.

"Amanda got pregnant," Quentin said.

"Congratulations," Angelique smiled.

"The baby wasn't his," Amanda said, turning her gaze downward.

Angelique looked from Quentin to Amanda and said, "What exactly do you want me to do about it?" She turned to Quentin and asked, "Do you want revenge?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully, "First, I want to know who did it and why."

"Don't you know?" Angelique asked Amanda, who shook her head in response. "Very well." She walked into the Drawing Room, and lit a candelabra. "Spirits of darkness, travel through the wind to me, for there is one woman who wishes to know the name of someone. Someone who did plant the seed of life inside her without her permission, who violated the sanctity of her marriage to Quentin Collins. Spirits of darkness, please heed my call – tell the name!"

Just then, the shutters blew open, and a spirit walked into the room. Quentin recognized her immediately – it was Rachel Drummond. "It was I," the spirit said bluntly.

"Why?" Quentin asked.

"I died carrying Tim's child," she said, "I wanted it to live, so I gave it to Amanda." The wind in the room started blowing harder, and Rachel was whisked away. As her spirit left the room, she said, "I meant no harm! Please, forgive me!"

Quentin and Amanda watched in horror as the candles blew out and the wind stopped. Quentin looked at Amanda, who was leaning up against him. He saw pity in her dark eyes, and he held her to him, caressing her shoulders as the truth sunk in that the child they had lost was neither of theirs: it was Rachel's.

As they re-entered the house, they heard the furious sounds of David and Hallie arguing. Quentin and Amanda looked at each other and Quentin said, "Guess they're working it out."

Just then, the fighting couple burst through the Drawing Room doors. "I can't talk to you when you're like this!" Hallie said exasperatedly.

"I told the truth; I could care less about you," David said calmly and sincerely, "You left me, remember? I've had the whole day to think about it, and I've decided that if you don't need me, I don't need you, either."

"I do need you!" Hallie insisted. "The reason I left was because you weren't paying any attention to me or Vicky!"

"I was paying attention to bills," David said as he took a swig of the drink in his hand, "Good-bye, Hallie."

Hallie stared at him for a moment, then left in tears. David turned to Quentin and said, "See? Took care of everything."

He retired once more to the Drawing Room as Quentin and Amanda again shared a worried look before going upstairs to check on the children.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two – Muffled Cries

David became sullen after his wife left him so suddenly. Quentin and Amanda soon learned to stay out of his way and merely go about their own business. One July night, Quentin opened the door to the nursery, and found Jamison and Mandy playing alone unattended. He looked around the room and said, "Jamison, where's your mother?"

"She said she go outside," Jamison said, playing with his blocks.

Quentin looked at Mandy, who lay in her little crib, watching the mobile of hearts and circles slowly pass by her head. He smiled as he walked up to his daughter and kissed her forehead. He turned back to his son and said, "C'mon, Jamison, time for bed."

Jamison pouted, sticking out his lower lip. "But, Daddy, I not tired."

Quentin knelt and placed a hand on Jamison's shoulder. "Maybe not, son, but it's way past your bedtime."

Reluctantly, Jamison picked up his toys and placed them in the toy chest. He tip-toed over to his little sister and kissed her forehead, saying, "'Night, Mandy." Quentin then took his son by the hand and led him to his bedroom.

Amanda was sitting on a rock at the very top of Widow's Hill. The night was warm, and she sat there, watching the tide ebb away into the distance. She was so entranced by the ocean's beauty that she didn't hear the snapping of the twigs behind her. She jumped as a hand touched her shoulder. Looking up, she breathed out a sigh of relief; it was her husband. Quentin smiled and said, "Mind if I sit down?" Amanda shook her head, and scooted over so that Quentin would have more room. He looked out over the cliff and remarked, "It's really beautiful here, isn't it?"

Amanda nodded smilingly. "I come out here sometimes to be alone," she said, "I remember in 1897, whenever Trask would become too much, I would come out here for hours." She turned to her husband and added, "Until you found me."

Quentin smiled sadly. "It's hard to live forever, isn't it? Seeing everyone you knew, everyone you cared about die off?"

Amanda stared at the ground, biting her lip. "I wish we could go back to 1972. At least we had roots there."

Quentin nodded and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled up against him, leaning on his shoulder. "I know how you feel," he said comfortingly, "I desperately want to return, too, but that damned staircase . . . if only it would take us to the right time."

Amanda cuddled closer, saying, "At least we're still together . . . us and Jamison and Mandy."

Quentin nodded and said, "Yeah." He lifted Amanda's head up and said softly, "I love you, Amanda, and if you weren't with me now, I don't know what I'd do."

Amanda smiled sweetly and said, "I love you, too, Quentin."

He bent down and kissed her lips, each moment with increasing passion until he broke away and said, "I know a place we can go – to be alone."

"Where?" Amanda asked breathlessly.

"A cottage on the estate," he said, standing up and pulling her onto the path, "Follow me."

The next morning, Quentin awoke in his bed at Collinwood, with Amanda sleeping by his side. He looked at his beautiful wife, and smiled lovingly, stroking her dark brown hair. She shifted slightly, but never woke. He stretched and got up from his bed. Still yawning, he walked over to the window and looked out to the red sunrise that greeted him. Smiling slightly, he walked over to the closet and picked out his clothes for the day: a khaki green T-shirt and faded blue jeans. As he started unbuttoning his pajama top, he thought he heard something in the back of his mind. He shook his head and resumed what he was doing, but the noise became louder until it sounded like a voice – a woman's voice. He could faintly hear what she was saying: "They didn't want us to be together because I was a dancer . . . do you remember, Quentin?"

"Who are you?" Quentin asked. "What do you want?"

"Then you left," the voice said, and he thought he heard a high-pitched, muffled cry. Again, he shook his head, but it was no use. The voice was in his head now, and he could not escape it. "But I know you still love me . . . Barnabas says so."

"Barnabas?" he said unbelievingly. "Who are you? How do you know Barnabas?"

"Can you hear it, Quentin?" she continued. "The babies . . . the babies are crying . . . they're crying for their father."

Quentin's eyes opened wider as he realized who had taken control of his brain. "Jenny."

"You walked away from them, Quentin, before you knew they existed," she said tauntingly, "You left your own children!"

"Your sister put a curse on them," he hissed.

"She was thinking of me," the voice said, "At least she thought of me; you never did after we were married."

Quentin clapped his hands over his ears, shouting, "Stop it! Stop it!"

Amanda stirred in the bed and awoke drowsily. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked, worried.

Quentin turned around in all directions, petrified, but the voice never came back. He slumped and said, "Nothing, Amanda, nothing. Nothing for you to worry about."

Amanda was still not convinced, but she knew Quentin long enough to know that he always thought about her. Still with her worried expression, Amanda rolled over and fell asleep again. Quentin worried for a moment that Jenny's voice might come back again to haunt him, but he heard nothing. Still shaking, he resumed getting dressed.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-Three – Too in Love

Amanda sat in their bedroom at Collinwood, reading a book called _Queen Bees and Wannabes_, desperately hoping that she and Quentin leave this time before Mandy is old enough to go to high school. Suddenly, Quentin entered their bedroom, and Amanda set her book down. He smiled at her, and knelt down next to her, resting his hands on her knee. He pointed to the book and asked, "Interesting reading?"

Amanda nodded. "Hopefully just entertainment and not reality." She looked at Quentin's confused expression and smiled. "What are you so happy about?"

"You," he said simply.

"Oh?" Amanda said, suppressing a smile. "What about me?"

"How you look absolutely beautiful," he raved jokingly, "And why you never left me for someone who could have given you a better life."

"Oh, Quentin," she said, melting, and she reached out and touched his face, "No one could have given me the life that you have."

"But look at us!" Quentin said, gesturing at the room. "Living in a time we don't even belong in. Hiding our identities. Tim Shaw could have given you more."

"Except love," she added, "And that's what you give me every day; that's what I live on, not diamonds and furs."

"Tim loved you," Quentin protested.

"No, he did not," she argued, "He might have cared for me, but he never loved me. On the train ride from New York to Collinsport, all Tim could talk about was a girl that he loved – loved deeply."

"Who?" Quentin asked, curious.

"A girl named Rachel Drummond – the girl you said gave me her baby," she replied.

"Hers and Tim's," Quentin affirmed, nodding his head.

"Quentin, honey," Amanda said, very serious, "Trust me. I will never – _ever _– stop loving you. Never. Understand?"

Quentin smiled and nodded, kissing his wife tenderly. As they broke apart, Amanda's eyes welled up with tears. Quentin, now concerned, wiped his wife's eyes dry. "Amanda, what's wrong?" he asked.

Amanda shook her head. "Nothing," she whispered, "Everything's perfect."

"Then why are you crying?" he asked, wondering if Amanda was lying.

"Because I love you, honey!" she wailed, throwing her arms around him.

Quentin, shocked, said, "You're not pregnant again, are you?"

Amanda picked herself up, laughing and crying at the same time. "No," he said, "I just – I just love you too much, I guess."

Quentin smiled kindly and stood, pulling Amanda up with him. "I understand," he said, his face coming closer and closer to hers, "Because I feel the same about you." He kissed her passionately as they were silhouetted by the afternoon sun shining through their window.

That night, Quentin was rummaging through the kitchen for a midnight snack. They had had chicken for dinner, and he thought now was the perfect time for a chicken sandwich. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure standing by the kitchen door. He bolted around, and saw Victoria, but not as he'd ever seen her before. Her long, wavy black hair was down instead of pinned up as usual, falling over her cream-colored square-neck nightie. Her green eyes stared at Quentin seductively, so much so that he almost had to force himself to remember that she is family, whether she knows it or not. He gulped and said, "Hi, Vicky. Hope you don't mind; I was hungry."

"Where's Jayme?" she purred.

"Upstairs," he replied nervously.

"I've been so upset since Mom left," she said, her eyes peering at Quentin with an interesting mixture of sorrow and mischievousness.

"I can tell," he said, eating his sandwich. Knowing how sticky the situation was, he asked, "Do you mind if I eat this upstairs?"

"Wouldn't you rather stay down here?" she said in a low voice, her eyes flashing.

"Not right now," he said truthfully.

"What's the matter?" she smirked. "Afraid of the dark?"

"No," he said slowly.

She crept closer to him. "Well, don't be afraid of me," she purred, "I won't tell Jayme."

"There is nothing to tell Jayme," he said forcefully.

"There will be," she said, wrapping her long arms around him.

Quentin jumped and untangled himself from her. Staring down at Victoria with deepest disdain, he said, "I think I should leave."

"What, too good to sleep with me?" she asked, pouring her hurt into harsh tones.

"Too in love with my wife," he said solidly before leaving the situation behind him as he carried his sandwich upstairs.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter Forty-Four – Comfort At Last

Quentin, Amanda, Jamison, and Mandy decided to give it one more try; they decided to go to Quentin's old room and watch for the time warp. It was September – the room was drafty, and even though Amanda was dressed for the cold weather, she felt many chills up and down her spine. She sat in behind Quentin's desk, holding Mandy in her arms. Jamison stood with his father, morose because his first pet, Gray Spots, had passed away earlier in the month. Amanda sighed and said, "I don't think it's coming."

"Just wait," Quentin said. He had grown more optimistic with the months and years away from home.

They sat for an hour until Amanda suddenly stood. "Quentin, this is ridiculous," Amanda said tiredly, "Let's face the truth: we are never going home, and even if we did, how could we explain Mandy or Jamison's growth? I know it's hard living here, but we might as well make a life for ourselves instead of clinging to this illusion that somehow we're going to get back to 1972!"

Just as those monumental words left her mouth, a flashing light appeared before them, turning into a vortex shining the palest yellow: the time warp. Quentin looked at Amanda with raised eyebrows and said, "Am I correct in assuming you want those words stricken from the record?"

Amanda embarrassedly smiled and asked, "All together?"

"All together," Quentin said, grabbing hold of Jamison's hand. He then linked his arm with Amanda's, and as a family they all walked into the time warp, which immediately disappeared from 2002.

In the year 1974, the Douglas/Collins family fell onto the floor in Quentin's room. Mandy started crying immediately. Amanda picked her up and started to soothe her scraped knee. "It's all right, honey," Amanda said comfortingly, "Mama's here."

As Amanda was kissing Mandy's knee, Quentin picked himself up and looked around the room. "Amanda, I think we've made it."

Amanda looked up at her husband. "I hope your right, but there's still one problem," she said seriously.

"What?" Quentin asked.

"How are we going to get out of here without getting seen?" Amanda asked frankly.

"You just leave that to me," Quentin said, taking charge. He righted Jamison on his feet and explained his plan. "We'll go ahead and see if anyone's coming. You two remain behind and move only when we give the all clear. Once we're out of the house, we're home free."

"Okay," Amanda smiled nervously.

They finally escaped Collinwood and reached their old house, which, since they paid in full, was never foreclosed upon. All four entered the house; they had asked the first person they saw in town what year it was. The answer was 1974; they were home.

Night fell quickly upon them, and soon the children were asleep. Amanda put them to bed in the old nursery, and made a mental note to buy another bed in the morning for Jamison. Amanda then walked into their old bedroom; Quentin was already in bed. She smiled at him and changed into the pajamas that had been waiting for her ever since that fateful Christmas party two years previous. "The house is still the same, isn't it?" Quentin asked sleepily.

"Yes," Amanda replied, buttoning up her flowing nightgown, "Oh, I'm just so happy to be home! Isn't it amazing how the time warp knew we should be here and not in 1972?"

"Mmm-hmm," Quentin said as Amanda slipped under the covers, "What's even more amazing is that we survived it."

"Survived what?" Amanda asked absent-mindedly.

"These two years away from home," Quentin said, putting his arm around his wife's shoulders, "I could have never done it without you."

"Then it's a good think I followed you, isn't it?" Amanda giggled, snuggling closer to her husband.

"I should have never entered the time warp," Quentin lamented, "It was stupid of me."

"Listen, we're home now and that's what matters," Amanda said. Leaning over closer, she smiled and added, "I love you."

Quentin kissed her and murmured, "I love you, too."

The next day, Amanda dressed up Mandy and Jamison. They were all going to go to Collinwood and explain their mysterious disappearance. Quentin walked in as Amanda was putting white socks on Mandy's tiny feet. Looking at his tiny, four-month-old daughter, he smiled and walked over, tickling her stomach. "Hey, Binkers." Mandy giggled and kicked her feet. "Oh, do we want to play?" Quentin said, smiling mischievously as he lifted his daughter up.

Amanda sighed exasperatedly as she knelt, holding a solitary sock. "Quentin, I _was_ dressing your daughter."

"It can wait," Quentin said, bouncing her up and down in the air.

"Quentin!" Amanda said sternly.

Quentin looked over at his wife, who was glaring at him. "What?" he asked innocently. Amanda raised an eyebrow, and Quentin sighed, "Oh, all right." Amanda smiled as her daughter was brought back to her seated position on the floor. Quentin walked over to Jamison, who was already dressed in his little suit. "Isn't this too extreme?" Quentin asked.

"What?" Amanda asked absently.

"The suit," Quentin replied.

"Yeah, too extreme," Jamison said, frowning.

Amanda, having placed both socks on Mandy's feet, stood up and said, "We are going to Collinwood; they'll expect it. You know how they dress David."

"You mean how they dressed David," Quentin corrected.

Amanda rolled her eyes and picked up the pink tennis shoes.

Soon, the family of four was walking up the path to Collinwood. Quentin knocked on the front door, and soon they heard footsteps coming towards them. The door opened, and Elizabeth stood there, prim and proper, though her eyes betrayed her surprise. "Mr. and Mrs. Douglas!" she exclaimed. "I – we thought we'd never see you again!"

"Oh," Quentin said, smiling guiltily, "Well, we had to leave the party unexpectedly."

"Without saying good-bye to anyone?" Elizabeth asked skeptically. "We still have your coats here. Mrs. Johnson has been keeping them in the coat closet just in case you came back. We all thought she was crazy, but know I'm glad she did." Elizabeth smiled suddenly. "It is good to see you again." Looking over at Jamison, she added, "Jamison seems to have grown quite a bit."

"Yes, he's almost four now," Amanda said proudly.

"And who is this?" Elizabeth asked, knowing full well the answer as she stared at Mandy. "When did you have her?"

"Four months ago," Amanda replied, smiling down at her daughter, "Her name is Mandy. We named her after my grandmother."

"I see," Elizabeth said, stepping out of the way, "Please, come in." Quentin and Amanda smiled at each other and stepped inside. "Where have you been all this time?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"All over," Quentin said vaguely.

"Where was Mandy born?" Elizabeth inquired as they entered the Drawing Room.

"El Salvador," Amanda said, remembering her and Quentin's story.

"Oh, how lovely," Elizabeth said, sitting on the couch, "Hallie said she was fixing tea. Would you like some?"

"Yes," Amanda replied.

"Carolyn re-married while you were gone," Elizabeth said, "You remember Ralph, don't you?"

Quentin looked at Amanda questioningly, but Amanda merely smiled and said, "The psychiatrist, of course! I do hope they're happy."

"Yes, they were married about a year ago," Elizabeth said smilingly, "He's finally made her forget Jeb; I'm glad someone did. Isn't it horrible how he was murdered?"

"Yes," Quentin said solemnly, "I know I shouldn't say this, but I'm glad Sky Rumson committed suicide, because I would have killed him."

Elizabeth nodded. "I felt the same way when I heard."

Hallie walks in, carrying a tea tray. Seeing the Douglas family, she stopped in her tracks and dropped the tray. Elizabeth got up quickly and helped the young woman pick up the broken tea set. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Stoddard," Hallie wailed, "I just – I was so surprised to see Mr. and Mrs. Douglas."

"It's all right," Elizabeth said soothingly, "We don't need tea." From the foyer, the group heard a door shut. Elizabeth stood and said, "I'll go get it." Before she reached the foyer, however, Carolyn came bursting into the Drawing Room, and immediately fell into her mother's arms. Elizabeth, shocked, said, "What's wrong? Baby, what is it?"

Carolyn looked up, her face tear-stained. "Ralph left me!" she wailed.

"What?" Elizabeth said disbelievingly. "Why?"

"I don't know," Carolyn sobbed, "This morning, I woke up and he was gone. No note – nothing."

"Are you sure he left you?" Elizabeth asked.

"All his clothes are gone, and so is his suitcase," Carolyn said, burying her face in her mother's shoulder, "Oh, Mother, what am I going to do?"

"You're going to move back here with us," Elizabeth said, "You're going to be with people who love you, and we'll see that Ralph will never hurt you again."

Quentin and Amanda looked at each other. Quentin stood and said, "Maybe we should go."

Carolyn looked over at him and smiled tearfully. "Grant! You came back!"

"Seemingly at a bad time," he said as Amanda stood with Mandy.

Carolyn spotted the baby and came forward. "You had another baby!" she exclaimed. "How wonderful!" Looking at Amanda, she said, "Olivia, I really need to see you now. We have so much catching up to do."

"All right," Amanda said, following Carolyn up to her old room.

Elizabeth smiled at Quentin, still with Jamison, and said, "Please, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable."


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-Five – Each Other

Amanda walked into their house later that afternoon with Mandy to find her husband hitting the bottle again. Sighing, she decided to ignore him; he was so incoherent when he was drunk, and he was always trying to convince her to join him.

Mandy was asleep by the time she made it up to the nursery. Smiling, Amanda laid her beautiful daughter to bed. She looked over at the brand-new children's crib, and saw Jamison also deep in slumber. Happy to be a mother, Amanda descended the stairs again, forgetting about her husband's condition.

As soon as Amanda stepped on the ground floor, she could hear her husband's familiar voice, although somewhat slurred: "Well, well, here she is, ladies and gentlemen, your evening star, Amanda Harris!" Amanda's dark eyes glared at him as she walked past him to the kitchen. "Hey, where're you going?"Quentin asked with a drunken smile.

"To cook dinner," she said stiffly, pulling three chicken breasts out of the refrigerator.

"I feel like fluids tonight," Quentin giggled, holding up his glass half-full of brandy, "Why don't you join me?"

Amanda sighed, exasperated. "Because your son happens to enjoy dinner," she explained as she started deboning the chicken.

"Oh, yes, and you're a good little girl who doesn't drink," Quentin chided.

"That will be enough," Amanda said, her body shaking.

"What, you can't take criticism?" Quentin said, a mockingly sad expression on his face.

"I can't take you when you're drunk!" Amanda screamed, raising her cleaver threateningly.

Quentin eyed the knife and laughed. "C'mon, you know you love it when I talk like this!" he said loudly. "Life would be too mundane without it!"

"Why are you drinking, Quentin?" Amanda asked, setting the chicken aside and picking rosemary out of her little potted herbs. "Did I leave you alone too long?"

"Yes," Quentin said seriously, "I don't like it."

"Well, I don't like it when you talk to me like that," Amanda said, chopping up her herb of choice, "I don't like it when you get drunk, either; you change."

"For the better," Quentin joked.

"No, you don't!" Amanda yelled, putting down the knife. "You become abusive and cynical. You're not my Quentin anymore, you're just a drunk, wallowing in his own self-pity! I hate it!"

Quentin looked down in silence for a moment, then looked at his wife, who was in tears. "You knew me – the real me – before you married me," he said quietly, "If you thought I would change, I'm sorry, because I have lived like this for over a century; I like it. I like me. I won't change."

Amanda gazed downward, tears falling silently. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "It's just – you get like this, and I don't know how to deal with you."

"Hey," he said smilingly. Amanda lifted her gaze to meet his. "I didn't mean anything I said. You were right; I'm just a cynic at heart. Don't pay any attention to me."

Amanda sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I'll get dinner ready."

After dinner, Quentin and Amanda still sat at the dining room table, drinking their glass of wine. Jamison, too, sat at the table, squirming in his seat. "Can we have dessert now?"he whined, looking pitifully at his mother.

Amanda laughed and said, "Sure, honey." She left for a moment and returned with three chocolate-banana desserts. "Here you go, sweetheart," she said to Jamison. "You, too, honey," Amanda added, placing Quentin's plate in front of him.

"Thank you, my dear," Quentin smiled. He took a bite and said, "This is delicious! Where'd you get the recipe?"

"Carolyn gave it to me years ago," Amanda replied, taking a bite herself, "It's great, isn't it? I should get her to make some for Jamison's birthday."

Quentin laughed. "I wonder what will happen this year?" he asked rhetorically.

"What do you mean?" Amanda asked.

"Well, the first one, Hallie – er -." he said, cutting himself short as he looked over at Jamison, "Was in a family way," he finished lamely.

"Oh, yes," Amanda giggled, "That was fun. You also forgot how Julia and Angelique were glaring at you so obviously."

Quentin smirked. "I haven't forgotten, trust me," he said, rolling his eyes, "And then the second one was in the hospital when Victoria was born."

"I remember," Amanda sighed, "We really shouldn't have done it, but Carolyn and Hallie were both so insistent."

"Well, at any rate, it will never be boring," Quentin said laughingly.

"Should we laugh or cry?" Amanda laughed.

"All done!" Jamison said happily, putting his fork noisily back in his bowl. "Can I go play now?"

"Of course you can," Quentin smiled, ruffling Jamison's black hair. Jamison shoved himself out of the chair and ran upstairs. "Still, I can't believe he'll be four."

"And soon, Mandy will have a birthday," Amanda said dreamily, "Children grow up so fast."

"And yet we'll never change," Quentin said sadly.

Amanda reached over and placed a hand over his. "At least we'll still have each other."

His eyes met hers and he smiled. "Yes; at least we'll have that."


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter Forty-Six – Intruder

Amanda didn't know why Hallie and David wanted to have an outside birthday party in the middle of October, but she certainly wasn't going to argue – just dress warmer. She hoped she looked all right in her casual outfit – a sweater and jeans – but she knew Hallie probably wouldn't mind; just Mrs. Stoddard.

Amanda smiled as Hallie came forth from the crowd, Victoria trailing behind. Victoria was dressed very prettily in a maroon sweater and blue sweatpants – of course, Hallie added the girly touch of Mary-Janes. Hallie herself was dressed as casually as Amanda – even more so since she wore warm boots while Amanda simply wore flats. "I'm relieved to see someone else not dressed to the nines," Amanda laughed.

"Yes, with such cold weather you have to," Hallie smiled. She looked at Mandy, and her face fell. "Won't she get cold?"

"I have a sweater for her in the car," Amanda assured Hallie. Mandy was dressed in a puppy dog T-shirt, skorts, and tennis shoes – perfect clothing for someone who was probably going to be involved in activity, Amanda had thought earlier. Now, she was questioning her good reasoning. Was Mandy too cold? "Maybe I'll change her into it now," Amanda said, thinking aloud, "I didn't think it would be so cold today." Amanda smiled at Hallie. "Must be 'cause you're so close to the ocean."

Hallie nodded smilingly. "I'm sure that's it."

Amanda turned around to see Quentin and Jamison coming towards her, both of them in the mutually hated suits. "Where're you going?" Quentin asked confusedly.

"To change Mandy," Amanda said hurriedly as she rushed off to the car.

Quentin shrugged and prodded Jamison. "Go on, son."

Jamison looked up at his dad and nervously walked towards Victoria, extending a gift. "Here."

"Jamison," Quentin said in a fatherly tone, looking at his son.

Jamison cleared his throat and said, "I mean, Happy Birthday."

Hallie knelt down to their size and gently took the present. "She's not old enough to open it yet," Hallie smiled as she ripped off the wrapping paper, revealing a fuzzy hat with a cat drawn on it. "Oh, Victoria," Hallie exclaimed, showing the present to her daughter, "Isn't this pretty!"

"Pwetty," Victoria said, grabbing the hat to look at it closer.

"What do you say to the nice boy, Vicky?" Hallie said smilingly.

"Thank you," Victoria said, looking at Jamison.

"It's all right," Jamison said before walking back to his father.

Quentin patted him on the shoulder. "Good job, son," he said.

"If everyone could come over here, please!" Quentin heard David yell from the center of the party. Quentin and Jamison walked over there, and soon Amanda and Mandy joined them. David, dressed rather conservatively, stood in the middle of the crowd. Beside him was a square frame on the ground. "All right, something for the kiddies," David smiled, "We have game time! All right, this game is called 'Caged Lion', and for those of you who have already played it know it's a version of tag. One person, the person who is 'it', stands in this square here," he said, pointing to the border on the grass, "The other people tease the 'it' person, also called the lion, by crossing into this boundary. If the lion tags you while you're in the square, you're out. And my very impartial cousin will referee." At that point, Carolyn emerged from the crowd wearing a strapless silk gray dress and did several poses for the crowd. "Very nice, Carolyn," David said in a mock pompous tone as he clapped vigorously, "All right, kiddies, the birthday girl is the first to be 'it'; everyone else, line up about ten feet away."

"Go on, son," Quentin said, prodding Jamison along.

"Oh, all right!" Jamison pouted as he walked over with the other kids.

"Well, isn't this nice!" Amanda exclaimed. "We should have games, too."

"For two kids?" Quentin smirked.

"Three now," Amanda said, bouncing Mandy. She already noticed that Mandy's eye color was changing slightly; in her brown eyes, she saw flecks of green. Amanda supposed that the Collins in her was indeed emerging. But not only Mandy's eye color was changing; her hair color was becoming darker, and now it was almost like a midnight brown.

"Yes, but Mandy can't walk yet," Quentin reasoned.

David interrupted their argument. "Ready, everyone?" he yelled to the twenty-five or so little kids lined up. Carolyn had a flag in her hand, ready for the "all clear" signal. Victoria stared up at her father as if she wasn't sure he knew what he was doing. David nodded to Carolyn, and she waved the flag, which sent a whole platoon of kids racing towards Victoria, who screamed and jumped to her father, clinging onto his pant leg. "All right," David laughed, picking up his little girl, "Someone else can be 'it'."

After game time was over at the party, the family of four walked over to an exhausted Carolyn, who was leaning on the buffet table. "Hello, Carolyn, how are you doing?" Amanda asked concernedly.

"Better," Carolyn said, "At least I'm doing something."

"Those little monsters wore you out, didn't they?" Roger said from the punch bowl.

"Hey! No fair!" Jamison exclaimed angrily.

"It's all right, he's just joking," Quentin said soothingly, "Why don't you spend some time with Victoria?"

"All right," Jamison said, scurrying off to his next activity.

"They grow up so fast," Carolyn said, marveling at Jamison, "I remember when he used to drink from a bottle; now he's mouthing off to Uncle Roger!"

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," Quentin said assuredly.

"Yes, well, I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, either," Roger said with a sudden burst of empathy, "It took me about twelve years to notice that my own son had feelings."

"Well, that's one mistake I'm not going to make," Quentin said.

"Well, hello, there!" Carolyn said, fawning over Mandy. "Aren't you a pretty little girl?" Carolyn suddenly looked up at Quentin. "Grant, why does she have green eyes?"

"She has my sister's eyes," Quentin replied.

"Besides, they're hazel," Amanda interjected.

"True," Carolyn smiled, turning her attention back to the baby, "Boy, is your father going to kick himself for having a girl!"

"Why?" Quentin said defensively.

"Because girls are notoriously spoiled," Carolyn said, "And when she starts dating – watch out!"

"Well, she's not there yet," Quentin said.

"Oh-ho, you're going to be one of the protective ones," Carolyn laughed, "I can tell."

"Eee-aaah," Mandy said, squirming in Amanda's arms.

"I don't see anything wrong with being a little protective of my daughter," Quentin said coarsely.

"Yes, knock it off, kitten," Roger agreed, imbibing more of the punch.

"Fine," Carolyn said, distraught.

"Hey, if it makes any difference, I agree with you," Amanda said consolingly, "I think he'll be protective because he knows how he was when he was dating, and heaven forbid Mandy be involved with someone like him."

The group laughed, but Carolyn suddenly stopped as she saw a figure coming closer. She knew that face, hardened by work and lack of sleep: her ex-husband, Ralph. He entered the group and said, "Hi, Carolyn; long time, no see."

Carolyn looked up into the face of the man she once trusted and ran off into the house, saying a polite "Excuse me" before she burst into tears.


End file.
